Death Knell (Word of Dresden 5) Mirrorverse
by griffyn612
Summary: Eight months have passed since Harry accepted Mother Winter's offer, becoming the new Winter Knight. His new position has given him power and resources beyond his expectations, but once more his past has returned to haunt him. With a powerful object loose in Chicago, and the looming threat of an Accorded Duel, Harry must find a way to save not only himself, but the world as well.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: The Dresden Files is copyright Jim Butcher. This story is licensed under the Creative Commons as derivative, noncommercial fiction.

Disclaimer: The Book of Shadows image is used with the permission of Alex Libris of AlexLibris Dash Bookart Dot Com

Summary: The story resumes during the events of _Death Masks_ _…_

* * *

DEATH KNELL

Chapter 01

Some things just aren't meant to go together. Things like oil and water. Orange juice and toothpaste.

Wizards and mornings.

As the harsh clang of the phone pierced my pleasant dreams, I sat up in bed, my bleary eyes and sleep-addled mind struggling to focus. The heavy curtains on the large single-paned window concealed most of the morning light, but enough peeked through to confirm the new day had begun. I looked to the nightstand, where an old fashioned clock ticked reliably away, confirming that it was entirely too early for someone to be bothering me.

Sure, most people had started their day a couple hours earlier, but half past nine was practically the crack of dawn for us wizarding types. Especially when we spent half the night working, and the other half entertaining a guest.

I swung my legs off the bed, finding the wood floorboards cool beneath my feet. The air temperature wasn't much better. The fireplace was still churning out some ambient heat from the burnt out logs, but it wasn't enough to properly warm the room.

Not that such things bothered me anymore.

I reached for the phone beside the clock, plucking the handset off the cradle mid-ring. The bell had woken the woman beside me, who shifted to keep herself covered beneath the thick comforter.

"Dresden," I mumbled somewhat irritably while rubbing at the stubble on my face.

"Sorry, Harry," a polite voice replied from the other end of the call. It carried a hint of a British accent, left over from when the man had lived overseas.

"What's up, Moss?" I asked, recognizing the caller.

The woman in bed behind me had rolled away, pulling the covers up over her head. But at the name, the edge pulled back to reveal a ruddy chestnut mane, followed by a pair of gold-flecked green eyes that fixed on me with mild curiosity.

"You've got a visitor over here," Moss replied, sounding somewhat apologetic. "Insists that he needs to speak with you."

I scratched at my face, trying to recall when I'd last shaved. "Who is it?"

"A priest," Moss replied. "Says he needs help finding something."

"Moss…" I began, letting more irritation creep into my voice.

"I know, I know," the man replied, seeming unaffected by my tone. "I told him you didn't do that anymore. But he was telling me about it, and… well, I think you're going to want to meet with him."

I let loose a long-suffered sigh. "Alright. Tell him I'll be there in twenty minutes."

"Yes sir," Moss replied, before hanging up.

I put the phone back in the cradle and turned to the woman, who had rolled onto her side to listen in. Her look told me that she'd heard both sides of the conversation.

Sía MacTire had, among many other things, a very good sense of hearing.

"A priest?" she asked, resting her head on one palm.

"I don't know," I grumbled. "Maybe it's another person looking to douse me in holy water."

The lycanthrope sniffed at the air, her nose bunching up in the process. "You could probably do with a bath."

My gaze drifted to her and noted where the sheets had been pulled down, exposing her upper body. "Is that an offer?" I asked, my mind drifting to more salacious thoughts.

"It would have been, had you not told him you'd be there in twenty minutes," the woman replied wryly as she rolled away from me, throwing back the covers to expose a lot more naked flesh.

Sía would never be a runway model, but she was still one of the most beautiful women I'd ever met. Hers was an earthy beauty, not to mention an earthly one. The former was pleasant, to be sure. But it was the latter that was a godsend, considering some of the company I'd been keeping of late.

I watched as she made her way to the master bath, her muscled legs churning delectably. As she reached the door, she paused, shooting a lascivious look back over her pale shoulder. "Of course, you could be late."

I whipped the covers off as I rose. Hell yes the priest could wait.

* * *

Something close to an hour later, my jeep pulled up to an old office building on Goose Island.

While I'd been on the run from Bianca's hit-men, a monster that could have been a stunt double for the Creature from the Black Lagoon had caught up with me. I'd survived the encounter, but the damned thing had dragged the trusty Blue Beetle into Lake Michigan.

Once I managed to scrounge up the funds for a new ride, I'd gone to Mike the Mechanic, the guy that'd somehow managed to keep the Beetle running more days than not. I'd asked for his recommendation on what to get to replace my beloved blue chariot.

He'd offered to sell me another Beetle, but I'd declined. No matter how nice it might have been, it would never be the same. Instead, I went with a Jeep CJ5 from the year I'd been born. It was a long running model, which meant parts were readily available, or could be ordered when necessary. A set of Big Boy Brackets made sure I had more than enough leg room, and a hardtop provided the protection it needed for the harsh Chicago climate.

As I climbed out of the jeep, I pulled the wide brim of my Stetson lower on my forehead. The cold weather gave me the perfect excuse to wear both it and my leather duster, although I didn't feel the cold quite like I had once upon a time.

I made my way from the jeep to the building, a squat brick structure that had seen better days. It was one of many such structures on Goose Island, a one hundred and sixty acre piece of land sitting smack dab in the middle of the Chicago River.

The island was man-made, and had been many things over the last two centuries. It'd housed residences for a while, but those had eventually been cleared to make more room for factories and warehouses. Most of those had gone under in the last half a century, leaving the island like many other places in Chicago: too dilapidated to use, but too expensive to re-develop.

With the land not being put to use, the gang known as the Streetwolves had started laying claim to it a little over a year ago. At one time, they'd been nothing more a couple dozen bikers that shook down local businesses. Those days were gone, and as their power and influence had grown, more and more of the island had fallen under their control.

Since I was no longer playing at being a private investigator, I had no need for a permanent office. Instead, I used a few of the Streetwolves' rooms whenever I needed.

I made my way into a side entrance, one dedicated solely to me. As I tended to short out any electronics that were in the vicinity, the Streetwolves made a point of putting me as far from their equipment as possible. At one point I'd strolled into Moss's office, and had somehow set fire to his mother's board, which apparently could only be replaced after he finished recovering from a long hard drive or something. I don't think he'd been out of town, but I took him at his word, slowly backing out of the room before I did any more damage.

I'd been more careful since then, which is why the side entrance was all but barren as I stepped inside. The only person in sight was Moss, who's lanky form almost reached my own height. He sported a loose mop of curls atop his head that were as dark as his skin, while a pair of thick-framed glasses made him look like the nerd he was.

He was also a lycanthrope, a man possessed by a wild spirit that gave him an enhanced strength, speed, and agility. His kind also benefited from a slightly increased healing rate, which came in handy, considering how many fights they tended to get into. He was one of many lyc's on the Streetwolves roster, their membership having expanded when Sía had taken over. She'd drawn lyc's from all over the world, making the gang more formidable than Parker had ever dreamed of.

"He's in the corner room," Moss said, his voice as light and pleasant as it had been over the phone. He'd only been in the country for a little over a year, and still carried himself with a timid baring. You'd never guess that the polite Englishman was more inclined to throttle you than shake your hand.

"What made you think I would want to talk to him?" I asked. The nerdy lyc was one of Sía's lieutenants, and was familiar with me and my past. He knew I'd given up on finding lost cats and family heirlooms.

"I'll let him tell you," the man replied, a knowing smile breaking across his face.

I rolled my eyes at the unnecessary drama, and headed for the door he'd indicated. When I opened it, it was to find a short and somewhat older priest waiting in the office I used.

"Mr. Dresden?" the man asked, rising from the chair that he'd settled in.

"Depends who's asking," I replied, not taking the hand he offered. I stepped inside, but left the door open. Moss's hearing was just as good as Sía's, so I knew he'd be able to listen in. Just in case things went south like with the last priest.

"My name is Vittorio Vincent," the man with the white collar said, not taking offense at my somewhat short temperament. "I'm from the Vatican."

"That's a long way to have come," I observed, leaning back against a side table. "What brings you to Chicago, padre?"

"Well, in short, there's been a theft of church property," Vincent replied, reaching for a satchel bag he'd placed on the floor as he spoke. I tensed, until I saw that he just pulled out a manila envelope. "A valuable artifact has been taken from the Cathedral of Saint John the Baptist in northern Italy."

"What kind of artifact?" I asked, my tone growing dubious.

"A very important one," the man replied. "We believe it was stolen by a group calling them themselves the Churchmice. They specialize in stealing relics and the like."

The good father placed the manila envelope on the main desk and removed several sheets of paper. Among them were a few photos, which he arranged across the surface. "This is Gaston LaRouche. He was the ringleader of the group; these two women are his accomplices, who we believe made their way here."

"You say he _was_ the ringleader?"

Vincent nodded gravely as he slid another picture out. "Yes. _Was_."

I picked up the photo, and had to work to keep my face neutral.

I'd seen some things in my time, especially over the last two years. But there was little to compare with what someone had done to Gaston LaRouche.

The man's body had been flayed open head to toe. There was little flesh left intact after someone had set to him with a knife of some sort. The wounds weren't terribly deep, but were made with a cold and terrible precision. Whoever had done the work took no qualms in taking their time with their victim, all while the man had most likely been screaming in agony.

Once I was able to look past the brutality of the murder, other details started to stand out. For example, the fact that the cobbles beneath him were soaked in blood, although not as much as there should have been.

"Why do you think he was headed here?" I asked as I put the photo down.

"There was paperwork found near his body, along with tickets that would have brought him to Chicago."

I nodded, my arms crossing as I considered it. "So it's not that his accomplices double-crossed him."

"Why do you say that?" Vincent asked.

"They wouldn't have left any trace as to where they were going." I looked to the other pictures, which didn't reveal much. Other than one being blond and the other being a brunette, there wasn't much to see. "Unless they left the paperwork as a false trail, hoping to distract you while they headed elsewhere."

"We believe that the two had already left the country before Mr. LaRouche's death," Vincent stated.

I shrugged. "Could be the killer wanted to mislead anyone else pursuing the artifact. Either that, or they wanted someone to come to Chicago to look for it. Which doesn't bode well for you."

Vincent blinked at that. "What do you mean?"

I sighed. "It means I don't have much to go on, and I don't have access to the resources I'd need to find your artifact." I looked up the aged man. "Moss told you that I don't do this type of stuff anymore, right?"

The priest nodded. "Emphatically. But I insisted. I tried looking you up, but—"

"I'm not in the phone book anymore," I informed him.

"So I learned," Vincent explained. "A mutual acquaintance, Father Forthill over at St. Mary's, informed me that you were now working with Lupivia, Inc."

"You could say that," I said with as little sarcasm as I could manage. The business was a front for the Streetwolves. Anyone who knew any Latin, which the good father should, would know what it meant. It didn't take a genius to connect the dots, which was the whole point. If the cops were looking at Lupivia, they weren't looking elsewhere. "So you know Forthill?"

"Yes, we go back," Vincent admitted.

"And he recommended you contact me?" I asked doubtfully.

"Well…" the priest began, before trailing off. "Your name came up, but…"

"That's okay, padre," I told him. "Forthill and I haven't really been seeing eye-to-eye of late."

"He spoke well of your abilities," Vincent said, leaving off whatever the other priest had thought of me personally. "Which is why I need you."

I sighed again while shaking my head. "Sorry, padre. I'm out of that business. You should go to the cops; they'll help you find your artifact."

"We cannot go to the police," Vincent said, sounding as if that much should be obvious. "The public cannot know about the theft."

His words caused me to frown. "What was stolen that you'd want to keep it under wraps?"

Vincent hesitated before answering. "The Shroud of Turin."

I blinked again in surprise. "I'm sorry. Are you telling me the Shroud of Turin was stolen?" The priest nodded. "The cloth that was supposedly wrapped around Christ in the tomb? And was left behind after he went AWOL?"

Vincent seemed to take exception at some of my interpretations of the lore, but nodded. "There are some that doubt its authenticity. But it has not been proven one way or the other."

I recalled as much. There'd been some tests a while back, but they'd been inconclusive. Rumor had it that the cloth had some healing powers or something, but the thing had been under lock and key ever since it had nearly been destroyed in a fire.

No wonder Moss thought I would be interested in the case. The Shroud of Turin, if it were real, would most likely be imbued with some heavy duty faith magic. The kind that would attract all sorts of unsavory attention.

Which is something I didn't particularly like having in my town.

"Alright," I said, realizing as I did that I'd just done an about-face on taking the case. "Do you have any pieces of the Shroud?"

"Pieces?" Vincent asked, sounding confused.

"Yeah, from when you guys did your testing back in the day," I said. "They might come in handy."

The good father started nodding slowly. "I believe so. I could probably have them overnighted. But what good would that do?" he asked, his head tilted in confusion.

"For verifying the Shroud," I lied. No need to tell the priest that I could use them to find it using magic. If he wasn't in the know, I wasn't going to explain it. Not when he was willing to cooperate.

"Very well," the man said, making a note of it. "Do you need anything else from me? A retainer, perhaps?"

"No," I said, waiving him off. "I could use some good karma these days."

In truth, I had little to worry about when it came to monetary concerns. Between the Streetwolves and my full time employer, I had pretty much all the resources I needed.

And besides, I might feel bad if I took his money while not intending to return the Shroud to him.

"Alright," he said with an appreciative smile. He passed along a business card, one for a local motel with a room number scribbled on the back. "Please call me with any updates. Is there a way I can reach you, if I can obtain the samples from the Shroud?"

"Just call Lupivia," I told him. "They'll put you through to me."

Vincent nodded again, and then made his way out. I let him go, my eyes drifting back and forth between the photos of the other two Churchmice. Wondering where they might be, and what they intended for the Shroud.

I gathered up the paperwork and photos, and tucked them away into a pocket of my duster. Once I had everything, I headed back toward the exit, where I found Moss waiting. "You take his case?"

I nodded. "Can't pass up the Shroud of Turin."

Moss shot me a toothy smile. "Didn't think you could."

"Keep this on the down low for now, okay?" I told him. "If word gets out that this thing is in town, it's going to make my job harder."

"Nobody'll hear it from me," he assured me.

"Thanks."

I tossed him a wave farewell, and then headed out. As I climbed into the jeep, my mind drifted back to the possibilities the Shroud might offer. If the theories were correct, and it held miraculous healing properties, it might be capable of some incredible things. Things I'd all but given up hope on.

Distracted by the case that had landed unexpectedly in my lap, I failed to note the arrival of a killer.

"Greetings, Knight of Winter."

I froze, my body tensing as cold power flowed through my veins.

The purring voice had come from the back bench of the jeep, just a few feet away from me. That the creature had gotten so close without my sensing it was alarming, both to me and the primal instinct that had failed to detect it.

I turned my head, my gaze falling on the figure sitting in the back. The feline fae was only slightly larger than a domestic cat, but exceedingly more dangerous than their quarter-ton relations in the wilds of Africa. The malk's tail lashed back and forth across the bench, the flickering motion revealing his amusement as much as the sly grin he wore on his face.

"Hello Grimalkin," I replied coolly. And I decided then and there to make sure I never parked in the shadows again.

The malk inclined his head slightly. "I come with a message from our lady and master, Queen Mab."

I forced a smile to my face. "What does she want now?"

"She has received an official challenge from Margravine Bianca St. Claire of the Red Court."

"So?" I asked smartly. "The blood-bladder has been trying to kill me for almost two years."

"You misunderstand, Lord Knight," Grimalkin replied, sounding amused at my ignorance. "Margravine St. Claire's feud is no longer simply a matter between the two of you. She has filed a formal grievance through the Accords."

"What does that mean?" I asked, the hairs on my neck standing on end.

The malk's bright eyes seemed particularly pleased, his purr almost mirthful, as he revealed my fate. "Within the next forty-eight hours, you will be tried under the Accords for violating the sanctity of Guest Law. For attacking a member of the Accords in their own residence, and causing harm to them and their subjects.

"And if you are found guilty, the punishment will be death."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 02

My mind raced as I tried to process everything the malk had said.

That Bianca wanted me dead was no surprise. Almost two years prior, I'd attended a function at her mansion as the local White Council representative. Things had gone poorly, and I'd had to fight my way out of the trap the vampire had ensnared me in.

The fall-out of that encounter had been catastrophic to my life. My girlfriend Susan Rodriguez had been captured by the vampires, which had led myself and two others to make a desperate attempt to save her and another girl named Justine. It had been a long shot, but we'd dared to hope that luck would be on our side.

The attempt had failed miserably.

At the end of the day, Justine was dead. So was Susan, in a sense; she'd been turned by the vampires, becoming one them. I'd nearly been killed myself, but had left Bianca's mansion under my own power, deciding to forgo the vengeance owed in favor of preserving peace between the White Council and the Red Court.

That decision had haunted me ever since.

It didn't take long for Bianca to send surveillance footage from the party to the White Council. The video was grainy, but you could clearly make out yours truly as I fought the massed horde of vampires that Bianca had gathered to her. When I'd grown desperate, I'd unleashed a storm of fire unlike anything I'd cast before.

I had no way of proving that the victims had all been vampires. The autopsies had confirmed mortals had been present, but were inconclusive as to whether they'd died before or after the fight. If the Council had bothered to ask, I would have told them that the vampires had been feeding on their doped up cattle before things had gone south. That the dead mortals hadn't been slain by my magic.

But they didn't ask. Instead, they'd declared me a warlock, and I'd spent eight months on the run.

It'd only been the previous June when I finally found a way out from their crooked form of justice. While working for the Sidhe on an internal matter between their Courts, I'd been offered the position of Winter Knight. If I accepted, I'd be out of both the Council's and Bianca reach. Neither would dare leave a contract out on Winter's hit-man.

Not to mention that I'd made a powerful enemy in the form of Queen Titania. Accepting the mantle was the only way I could hope to survive what she'd be throwing my way.

So I did what I had to, to survive.

Only now it seemed Bianca had found a new way to see me dead.

"Why now?" I asked, my voice almost a growl as I tried to rein in the rage that swelled up within me. The mantle was powerful, but it was dangerous. If I let it have too much control, things got out of hand real quick.

"One of the Red Court's Lords has decided to put an end to the matter," Grimalkin informed me.

"Who?"

"Duke Paolo Ortega," the malk said. "He is Bianca's sponsor, and has considerable pull within the Red Court. The Margravine has been seeking support among her fellows to declare war on Winter for harboring you."

"Wait, what?" I said, twisting around again. "Why the hell would they go to war with Winter?"

"Because you are now part of the Winter Court, Lord Knight," Grimalkin purred, his smile curling up into something more condescending. "The Council avoided just such a fate by removing you from their membership. But when Mother Winter bestowed the title of Knight upon you, she put Winter in a vulnerable position."

"But the party was long before I joined Winter," I explained. "The Sidhe had nothing to do with it."

That wasn't technically true. My fairy godmother had been involved in those events, and had all but put me in the tenuous position I'd found myself in. But Lea hadn't violated any rules as far as I was aware; she'd helped me escape the party, but her excuse had been that she was attempting to remove me before the hostess met a gruesome fate.

"And yet now our Queen finds herself in an awkward position," Grimalkin said with a slight shake of his whiskered head. "She cannot afford to have the Accords blatantly violated, especially by her own Knight. And she cannot afford to enter into a war with the Red Court; not while we remain in conflict with Summer."

I grimaced, knowing exactly what he was talking about.

When I'd killed Aurora, the previous Summer Lady, she'd been trying to put an end to the Cold War that had existed between the two Sidhe Courts since they'd been formed. While noble, her actions had been foolishly dangerous.

She'd partially succeeded in her attempt. While she hadn't sacrificed the power of the Summer Knight, she _did_ manage to pass some of her own through the stone table and into Winter. I'd prevented her from giving over all of her power, which was the only thing that had spared the world from a frigid end.

Even the limited amount that had passed between the Courts had caused havoc with the world's climate. A cold snap in the middle of summer had destroyed crops across the globe, which had led to dozens of small wars springing up among nations threatened with hunger. Those with stockpiles faired better, but no-one had been unaffected.

While mortal society had finally started pulling itself back from the brink of chaos, the Sidhe had not. With the balance of power between the Courts upended, Summer had set about trying to reclaim their power however they could. Skirmishes had broken out amongst them and the Wild Fae, the factions of Faerie not affiliated with either Court. If they could regain power without facing Winter directly, all the better.

Only, Winter had reacted in kind, aiding those in the Wild when they could. The Unseelie were determined to maintain its advantage over the more cheerful Seelie court. Which, of course, had made the last eight months a very dark and very dangerous time in Faery. Which in turn had kept the Winter Knight very busy.

From what I'd seen of Mab, she was inclined to settle matters, and allow Summer to regain some of their lost power, as long as Winter lost nothing. But the old crone, Mother Winter herself, had been invigorated by the influx of power. And she had no sympathy for Summer or for humanity.

But with that conflict ongoing, there was no way Winter could allow itself to be drawn in to a fight with the Reds.

"So who am I dueling?" I asked, realizing there would be no escaping my fate.

"Ortega himself," Grimalkin replied. "He and his contingent have already arrived in Chicago, and will meet with you and your second once the intermediary has arrived."

I turned back. "Who's to be judge and jury?"

"The Archive," the malk replied.

That drew a frown from me. I'd been involved in a couple duels since becoming Winter Knight, but I'd never worked with that intermediary. "I thought the Archive was some repository of mortal knowledge?"

"She is," Grimalkin confirmed. "And she is quite powerful because of it."

"Knowledge is power, and all that. So she's got clout," I surmised. "Enough to take care of me should I be found guilty."

"Oh, most _assuredly_ , Lord Knight," the malk said with entirely too much glee.

"Watch it, kitty," I growled back. "Or I'll tell the chambermaids at Arctis Tor not to clean your litter box."

That earned me an annoyed ear twitch.

"So who's to be my second?" I asked, feeling smug about landing a blow against the annoying creature, no matter how petty. The malk liked me about as much as Mab did, which was to say not at all. But at least he made no effort at disguising his opinion. I could respect that.

Grimalkin's grin returned. "That is up to you. But be for-warned, it shall be no-one in service to Winter."

"What?" I said, twisting around again. "You've got to be kidding me."

The malk shrugged with a disaffected air. "The Queen must distance herself from the matter. As such, none of her subjects shall be involved." Grimalkin's eyes narrowed as his grin grew. "In short, you caused this mess on your own; so shall you finish it."

Before I could reply, the malk disappeared, leaving me gaping into an empty back seat.

"That back stabbing _bitch_ ," I growled. My fist bounced off the steering wheel, the drive-shaft groaning under the force of the blow. I'd hit it harder than I'd intended, the mantle fueling my strength in my rage.

Thankful that the old jeep didn't have airbags that would have registered a collision, I started up the engine, and made my way home, all while trying to figure out what I'd do.

* * *

It didn't take me long to journey from Goose Island to the Gold Coast, where my townhouse was located.

When I'd been on the run from the Council, I'd briefly left Chicago, trying to lose the wardens in the wide open countryside of America. But it hadn't taken me long to realize that I'd made a mistake. Out there, everyone was a stranger that might be hunting me in a landscape I didn't know. At least in Chicago I'd known the town, which gave me a shot at staying a step ahead of the wardens. I'd returned post-haste, and avoided those hunting me for as long as it took.

After becoming the Winter Knight, I'd decided to remain in Chicago for the same reason. By then I'd made a casual alliance with the Streetwolves. It was the same gang that I had once feuded with, but it had become something new once Sía had taken over. I wasn't a fan of all of their methods, but I'd begun to realize that the world was a hard place that needed a stern hand at times. Sía's people offered that, as well as an option outside of the local crime boss that ruled the city.

Upon my return to mortal society in Chicago, I'd been inclined to return to my old apartment in the basement of Ms. Spunkelcrief's house. But the Winter Lady, as the Queen operating closest to the mortal world, insisted that the Winter Knight could not live in a hovel. Frustrated, but unwilling to argue the point, I'd let Maeve make arrangements.

I should have suspected that her help would be both sweet and vicious, just like her.

My townhouse was more than I could have ever asked for. It sat on its own plot of land in the Gold Coast, which was the high end neighborhood of Chicago. The building was surrounded by trees on each side that almost completely hid it from view, offering me both privacy and space in the middle of the city.

The grounds were immaculate, with a white pebble driveway leading past well kept hedges. An extensive garden in the back contained winding paths that ran beside shaped topiaries and marble statues.

The house itself might as well have been a mansion. It had more bedrooms and baths than I could ever put to use, and a formal dining room and living area that were still all but empty. It even had a basement that was perfect for using as my lab.

As Maeve had presented me with the keys, I was filled with more hate for her than anyone I'd ever known. Which is saying something, considering some of the things I've seen.

I knew a lot about the home before I stepped inside, mostly because I'd been there once before. Back when I'd been working with the police, I'd been called there on a case that had involved the previous owner. A man who's family had been cursed with a ghastly inheritance, one that turned him into a raging monster once a month. A man that had been targeted by others, his self-made containment circle destroyed by those that would see him blamed for crimes he didn't commit.

A man that had killed his friend, my would-be apprentice Kim Delaney, in that very same house.

Maeve had bought me a wonderful home indeed.

I'd made do with it the best that I could. The place had been gutted, so by the time I moved in, I could no longer smell the blood that had once permeated the air. Sometimes I still caught a whiff, but that was most likely just my guilty conscience reminding me of my failure to help her.

I didn't live in the room where Kim had died. I'd had the place redone, with the master suite switched to the other side of the house. The old bedroom where Kim had met her end had been turned into a war room for my Household Guard. I never set foot in there.

As I returned home, I drove the jeep past the front, and parked it in the detached garage in the rear. Cutting my way through the cold morning air, I went in through the back, which led into the kitchen. It was there that I found the captain of my Household Guard arguing with my head chef.

"That is _not_ a proper meal," the dark-haired fairy standing on the kitchen island declared angrily. She was less than a foot in height, with a human-like figure that would have been eye-catching if she weren't the size of a Barbie doll. Her thick mane of black silken hair was tied back in a long braid that almost reached her feet.

When she saw me enter, she gestured toward the counter, her dragonfly wings snapping crisply. "Sir, I recommend that you _not_ eat that."

As the person in charge of my safety, the fairy known as Lacuna took her job very seriously. I'd searched high and low for someone competent enough to serve me that wasn't already affiliated with either of the Sidhe Courts. I might have been the Winter Knight, but that didn't mean I trusted the Court with my life.

Lacuna had been a lucky find. As a wild fae, she held no loyalties to Summer or Winter, and had sworn herself to me and me alone. She'd overseen the formation of my Household Guard, which looked after things while I was away. She'd also become my most trusted confidant, who I relied heavily upon, even if she tended to fixate on things outside of her purview.

Her current tantrum seemed to be based on her efforts to ensure I ate a proper diet. Something that was woefully unlikely to happen, considering who I'd anointed as head chef.

"There'f noffing wrong wif it!" Toot-toot the fairy replied, his mouth full as he scowled back at her. His own silver dragonfly wings were still as he stood atop the counter, holding aloft a plastic bladed pizza cutter. The fairy's magenta hair was wild and frizzy as he turned to me, quickly swallowing his bite-full to defend himself. "It's fine!"

I walked over to see what the fuss was over, and let loose with a groan that was half frustrated, half amused.

"Our lord needs a proper meal! One with fruits!" Lacuna insisted.

Toot glared at her as he swung the pizza cutter around to point at the box on the counter. "It's got fruits!" The round edge tapped the front of the box. "See? Apples!"

"Apple Jacks are Not. Real. _Apples!_ " Lacuna growled, her tiny foot stomping.

Toot just turned to me, his arms extended as if to ask that I assure her they were more or less the same.

The two faeries hadn't gotten along ever since I'd recruited Lacuna. The little guy had been infatuated with her at first, but when he'd learned that she was a vegetarian that disapproved of pizza, his enthusiasm had quickly waned.

Instead of taking sides, I looked toward the concoction on the pizza stone, which seemed mostly edible. The fairy had cooked up one of the frozen pepperoni pizzas from the freezer, and sprinkled it liberally with the aforementioned cereal. There was also some freshly blackened bacon crumbled over it, along with what looked like runny eggs.

Toot bowed gracefully, his arm waving over the pie. "Your breakfast pizza, sir."

"Thank you, Toot," I said neutrally. Rather than just diving in, I made my way toward the coffee pot, which I had smelled upon entering.

"Will Miss MacTire be joining us?" Toot asked, casting a longing look at the pizza.

"Unfortunately she left earlier," I informed him, although he likely already knew that. The little fairy wouldn't have made a full pizza if Sía had stuck around; he would have made two.

Toot's wing's fluttered excitedly, although his expression and tone remained saddened. "That _is_ a shame."

"Isn't it?" I asked after taking a sip of coffee. With a grateful sigh that the fairy had at least learned to make a proper pot, I grabbed a plate and a couple slices of pizza. "Toot, would you see that the rest doesn't go to waste?"

The tiny fairy snapped a crisp salute in my direction as I strolled out, the plastic pizza cutter edge banging on his forehead as he did. I returned it with an awkward salute of coffee, and nodded toward the door, letting Lacuna know I needed her. She dutifully trailed along in my wake, although she lingered long enough to exchange several impolite gestures with Toot.

Taking another swig, I headed for a door along a hallway, which lead to a narrow spiraling staircase. I made my way down carefully, the enchanted lamps on the walls beginning to shine as I passed by.

When I reached the bottom, I fumbled with the plate and mug, somehow managing not to spill anything as I opened the door to the basement storage room that I'd turned into my lab. I would have had Lacuna do it, but every door handle in the house was made of iron, as was every window latch, hinge, vent grate, and anything else I could think of.

Lacuna and her people had other ways of getting about, and I took a dark pleasure in knowing that any unwanted Sidhe visitors would be inconvenienced by the abundant presence of the metal.

The basement was already well lit by more magic lamps as I entered. There'd been windows along the top edge of the wall when I'd first moved in, similar to what I'd had in my old apartment. But without a deeper sub-basement to use as a lab, I'd walled those up, sealing the room away from any trace of natural light.

A small figure was traipsing about one of my lab tables, its thin limbs made of wood and wire. It was nothing more than a skeleton marionette, although the long wires and control bar had been cut away. Unlike a puppet on strings, the thing's movements were fluid and natural, as if it were alive.

That it was moving about on its own was due to the dark amber light that infused it.

"How we looking?" I asked as I placed the mug and plate down on another table.

The wooden skeleton head turned to look at me, its eye sockets shining brightly with the same amber light that was wrapped around the wire joints. The puppet's eyes narrowed, the wood not moving so much as the embers of light twisting to impersonate the human expression. "Much better than your breakfast."

I took a bite of said breakfast, taking it slow to see how it tasted. Once that one was done, I brushed the cereal off and tried again. Better. "He's trying."

The skeleton's eyes rolled at that. "I could do better."

I shot a doubtful look at the wooden contraption that was currently housing my lab assistant Bob. "If I recall, the only time you expressed any interest in food was when you read about nude sushi bars."

Bob's eyes widened, the darker amber briefly flaring into something more golden. "The one time I wished I could eat."

The Spirit of Intellect gave a soft wistful sigh, before turning his gaze back toward the object on the table. As he did, his eyes shifted a shade darker again. "Our modifications from last night took care of that feedback issue."

"Good," I said, looking at the foot long length of oak, its surface covered extensively with etchings that had been filled in with a magically crafted resin that would add some durability to the rod.

"Although you may want to test it again before you put it to use," Bob added as the marionette walked over to a small wooden chair atop the table.

"I'll put it through the paces later," I said as a cloud of amber lights flowed out of the wooden doll, floating across the room to gather within an old skull atop a shelf. "I've had a busy morning, and I need to consult with the two of you."

Lacuna snapped off a crisp salute while Bob just rolled his eye-lights in the sockets of the skull.

As quickly as I could, I got the two up to speed on the case and the duel. I took bites of pizza when I could, taking care to pour off the runny eggs whenever necessary. By the time I finished eating, Bob and Lacuna knew everything I did.

"So are you going to wait for the threads?" Bob asked.

"That's the plan," I confirmed. I turned to Lacuna. "Although I'd like you to put feelers out; see if anyone has caught a trace of this thing. If it _does_ have any power, it should be practically glowing on the magical spectrum."

"Unlikely to be that easy," Bob interjected. When I looked to him, his eye-lights tilted. "Imbued items like that aren't always easily detected by beings not on the same… wavelength."

"Wavelength?" I asked, surprised.

"The Shroud is an object of faith magic," Bob explained. "I'm a spirit of reason and intellect; we're not on the same wavelength. And the fae," he added, his eye-lights bobbing toward Lacuna, "aren't all that attuned to such things either."

"Well, see what you can do," I told her, hoping she might get lucky.

The fairy nodded. "That reminds me, sir. I haven't given you the morning report yet."

"Anything of concern?" I asked. Each day Lacuna compiled the reports from the numerous fairies and creatures around town that she'd drafted into our information network. We tried to stay on top of everything supernatural in the city, but with the sheer size of Chicagoland, it was a daily struggle.

"One thing of note," she replied.

"Alright, let me finish my thoughts on the rest of this," I said. I sat back on the stool. "As for the duel, I'll need a second." I sized up the tiny fairy, just shy of a foot in height but dangerous all the same. "You up for it?"

Lacuna snapped off another salute. "I shall be awake and vertical as appropriate, sir."

I pinched my nose. "Good. Good." Bob just rolled his eye-sockets again. "And find out what you can about the perimeters of the duel. I think they're spelled out somewhere."

"I will familiarize myself with them," the fairy assured me.

"Alright, now what was it you had?" I asked.

Rather than cutting to the chase, Lacuna went through her whole report. Because if you want an efficient fairy to be in charge of things, you get a fairy that doesn't do things by halves.

She went through the list one item at a time, most of which were mundane matters. There was an abundance of supernatural creatures in Chicago. Between the Red Court, the small contingent of White Court vampires present, several other factions that tried to slip by unnoticed, and the odd collection of things that lived in Undertown, it was all but impossible to keep tabs on everything. But she and her people tried her best, and kept me up-to-date as much as they could.

It wasn't until we got to the last two items that I heard anything of note.

"Treeblossom reports that Mr. Marcone's witch has been busy at one of the local hotels," Lacuna was saying as I stared at the bottom of my empty coffee cup.

"Doing what?" I asked.

"Setting up wards, it seems."

"That's odd," I observed. "Any idea why?"

"There is a function scheduled to be held there tomorrow evening. Mr. Marcone is one of the sponsors for the event."

"Why would he be setting up wards for a party?" I mused, mostly to myself.

"It is an auction," she offered quickly. "My presumption is that there will be several items of value."

Her words made me recall my visit with Vincent. "Now what are the odds that Marcone is hosting an auction for valuable items at the _exact_ same time the Shroud of Turin is brought to town by thieves?"

"Very good odds, sir," Lacuna dead-panned. "That is exactly what has occurred."

I ignored Bob's snicker. "See if you can get me a couple of tickets to the function," I instructed her. "And send someone by to see exactly what Gard is putting in place."

It'd been several months since John Marcone had hired a magical consultant. I'd had Lacuna look into things, and we'd found that Sigrun Gard was an employee of a company called Monoc Securities. She'd been putting up wards at all of Marcone's places, apparently in reaction to my spying and interfering in their business on behalf of the Streetwolves.

Lacuna nodded. "Consider both done."

"Anything else?" I asked.

"Yes sir," she said quickly, disappointing me. "Snakeroot picked up a scent of dark magic. He traced it back to the morgue. Based on his description, it appears that someone was killed with magic."

Her words sent chills down my spine.

While it was true the White Council couldn't touch me, it didn't mean they couldn't make my life difficult. The last thing I wanted was wardens running around Chicago looking for someone killing with magic. That'd inevitably lead to them arriving at my door, which wouldn't go well.

"Alright," I said with a sigh. "I'll look into it." Although that could wait until nightfall. I didn't have the pull that I'd once had with the police, which meant they weren't going to just let me come inspect a body.

As if my plate hadn't already been full enough. On top of a magical duel and a search for a missing artifact of power, I had to contend with a dark magic user in town that might cause me even more trouble.

I looked up at the ceiling, wondering what else could go wrong.

I should have known better.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

With Lacuna handling things, my afternoon was spent working on projects while I waited for nightfall. Like Bob recommended, I ran the rod through its paces. Afterward I worked on some of my other projects, until it was finally time to get some actual work done.

As it was the end of February, the sun set fairly early. Even so, I waited until well after business hours before starting out for the morgue.

It didn't take me long to get there. Traffic was light for that time of night, and I drove past first to make sure the place had cleared out. Only the handful of cars driven by the night shift were present.

Despite the lack of a crowd, I parked a block away. No point in advertising where I was. Especially since I'd be trespassing in the process.

Not wanting to attract attention, I left my staff in the jeep and approached the building on foot, my hat pulled low as I kept my head down. I'd taken to wearing an old wide-brimmed Stetson whenever I was up to no good, which was pretty much every time I went out of the house. There were too many surveillance cameras everywhere, which was a pain in the ass for those of us that wanted to slip by unnoticed.

Just such a camera had recorded the events at Bianca's mansion, which is how the blood-sucker had given the Council the 'proof' they needed to label me a warlock.

I'd put an enchantment on the hat that emitted a subtle magical field. Only those with some serious talent would detect it, as there was no outward sign of its effect. But the spell wreaked havoc with cameras. If anyone took a picture of me, or captured me on video, all they'd see atop my shoulders was an unidentifiable blur.

While my raid on Bianca's mansion had ended disastrously, it had at least taught me some good lessons. Lessons I'd worked hard at remembering.

As I approached the medical examiners' building, I knew the distortion spell on the hat wouldn't be enough to see me in. So as I turned into the alley, I whispered a hasty, " _Obscurata_ ," allowing me to disappear behind a veil of shadows.

I'd never been particularly good at veils. There were as many ways to create them as there were forms of magic. Air mages could make reflective bubbles that made them all but invisible; those talented with light and fire could manipulate the electro-magnetic spectrum to bend light; there were even some earth mages that were good enough to make themselves blend into the environment around them, although it didn't work as well in an urban setting.

Mind mages, rare as they were, could simply make you think they'd disappeared. But seeing as that type of thing got you beheaded, it wasn't all that common.

As someone with a talent for fire magic, I'd always bent the light around me. Doing so would put me out of sight, but it also meant I couldn't see as well. And if I moved, the veil would flicker, revealing my location. But as I stepped into the alley, my spell was perfect, allowing me to hide behind a veil that hid me both visually and audibly, while leaving my own senses unhindered.

There are advantages working for the Queen of Air and Darkness.

The Winter Knight was expected to be an assassin, among other things, and the mantle had magics worked into it for those that new how to use them. With the mantle aiding my spell, I moved to the door, sight unseen.

At the side door, I fired off a quick hex, shorting the alarm unit. A gentle kinetic spell on the push bar from the inside popped the door open, and I slipped into one of the rear hallways of the facility.

It was an old place, one that I'd visited once or twice over the years. I hadn't spent much time there as an investigator, seeing as the dead don't pay well. But I'd been there enough to know where the freezers were, and headed that way.

My progress was slow, as I had to avoid the guard that came by to check out the short in the door alarm. Then there was the cleaning staff working their way through the building, not to mention the night staff handling the remains of those unfortunate souls that had the ill misfortune of dying after business hours. I worked my way through the rooms, avoiding everyone that came my way, while my senses looked for any trace of the dark magics Snakeroot had detected.

I eventually located it in one of the locker rooms, which consisted of a wall of retracted slabs and a couple examining tables. An ancient computer sat in one corner, which I took care to avoid.

Using a bit of magic, I poured some power into my pendant, which began to glow with a soft blue light that was enough to see by. It helped me find my way across the room, where my senses led me to one of the cold lockers. I pulled it open slowly, trying to avoid making any noise. Cool air rolled out with the body, but despite the refrigeration, the air was potent with the smell of the corpse.

That might have been due to the fact that the thing was horribly, unbelievably desecrated.

The first thing I noticed was that the body had been sliced open in a grid-like pattern. It took me a second to figure exactly what I was looking at, as the head had been removed, along with his hands. One arm was missing almost from the elbow, while the other ended in a jagged stump closer to his wrist.

Between the cuts and the missing pieces, the corpse was almost a formless lump of shredded flesh. It looked almost as if he'd gone through a bread slicer, and I wondered if pieces would start sloughing off if I touched it.

Not that I would. Through the gruesome cuts, I could still see the obvious signs of disease.

I'd seen enough bodies to know what natural bloating looked like. Whatever had happened to this guy, it was something else entirely. The ribbons of skin between the cuts were all discolored. Rashes had spread across the body, and I could make out several different types of sores that looked ready to burst, eager to spill their bile and blood onto the cold tray.

I physically recoiled from what I saw, and the feel of the dark magic that rolled off of it.

Whatever else had been done to this poor guy, he'd been exposed to magic. Dark magic, the kind that could only be performed by sorcerers and warlocks that had fully given themselves over to evil.

So intent was I on the body that I almost missed the sound of voices in the hallway. I hastily shut the drawer, and made for the far side of the room, crouching down behind one of the exam tables.

A second after I'd extinguished the pendant's light and put my veil back into place, the door opened. The lights came on a moment later, although the recessed strips over my head flickered and died, leaving my area shrouded in darkness.

I peered across the top of the table at the two people that had entered, the shorter of which looked up at the light with an odd scowl. "Is that normal?" Lieutenant Karrin Murphy of the Chicago P.D.'s Special Investigations unit asked.

"These days?" replied the short and scrawny man with her, one hand pushing his glasses up on his face while he reached for some face masks with the other. "Yeah."

"I thought they were building you guys a fancy new facility?" Murphy asked as she took the mask and donned it.

"Budget cuts," the man replied with a meek shrug. "With the economy tanking due to the Big Freeze, the county didn't have the funds to finish it."

As he spoke, a flicker of guilt cut through me at his words.

He was talking about the cold snap that had killed the crops. That had plunged the planet into chaos, and wreaked havoc with the world markets. All because I'd failed to stop Aurora.

Part of me knew it was all my fault. But I tended to shove those thoughts aside, casting blame on Aurora and the Sidhe. I'd done the best anyone could have expected of me. No-one would have faired any better in that battle than I had. No-one else could have stopped her from shedding her blood on the table.

I shivered suddenly, but returned my attention to the others.

Murphy nodded at the mortician, acknowledging his statement. "I can sympathize. S.I. hasn't had an easy go of it either."

Special Investigations was the division of the police department that dealt with the odd cases; the things not easily explained. The tiny blond woman was the head of the department, and had at one time been an acquaintance of mine.

I'd hesitate to call her anything more. There'd been a time I'd considered her an ally, and perhaps even a friend. But that had been before Bianca's; before my world changed.

The two made their way across the room, to the very same storage locker that I'd just been inspecting. The mortician made sure his own face mask and gloves were in place before opening the door and pulling the tray out.

"Damn," Murphy said, her face tightening at the sight of the body. I think my own hadn't looked any better.

"Yeah, it's pretty bad," the little guy said, his voice squeaking. He seemed a little pale as he looked at the body, which I thought odd of someone in his profession.

"What makes you think this is a matter for S.I.?" Murphy asked as she leaned over the corpse, or what remained of it.

"You guys deal with the odd, right?" he replied.

"Yes, Butters." Murphy replied, a hint of impatience creeping into her voice. "But with the Streetwolves, Marcone, and the other factions all fighting over territory these days, I don't see how one mutilated body stands out from the rest."

"Ah," the mortician replied, his head bobbing quickly. "Right. Well, it wasn't the scarring that made me call you. It was the things that killed him."

"Things?" Murphy asked, looking startled. "What do you mean? What killed him?"

"What _didn_ _'_ _t_ kill him?" Butters replied, gesturing at the body. "I ran blood tests, hoping to figure out what caused these lesions and infections. But the results they came back with were crazy."

"How so?"

"Well, for starters, this guys has traces of plagues and diseases that have been eradicated," Butters explained. When he saw her startled look, he quickly added. "Don't worry, there's nothing airborne. Just don't touch it without gloves, and leave your mask on just in case."

I swallowed nervously at that.

"You're saying this guy died from the plague?" Murphy repeated, clearly not believing what she was hearing.

"Plagues. Plural," Butters confirmed. "He's got almost everything I've ever heard of, and some that I haven't. Things he shouldn't have been exposed to unless he slipped and fell in a C.D.C. storage facility."

Murphy nodded as she began to understand. "So you're saying this guy wasn't infected by normal means."

"Definitely not," Butters confirmed. "Which is why I called you."

The detective's face twisted into a grimace. "Truth be told, there's not much I can do to run this down," she confessed. "We don't have the same resources we once had."

Which was entirely her fault, in my opinion. I'd been willing to continue working with her, had she and the city not revoked my license and declared me persona-non-grata after being accused of burning parts of Bianca's mansion.

Like everyone else, Murphy and the others had assumed my guilt. Which was par for the course that was my life.

"What about…" Butters said, trailing off. "You know."

Murphy just shook her head. "For all I know, he _did_ this."

Two more lights popped, leaving the room darker.

The detective looked up, her suspicious frown returning as she studied the suddenly faulty lighting. Her eyes then trailed over the room, passing over me and my veil without seeing anything.

"Well, I thought someone should know," Butters said with a shrug. "We're sending more samples off to be tested, but at this point there's no concern of it spreading. We'll have to dispose of the body before long, just in case."

Murphy nodded absently, eventually returning her gaze to Butters. "Any idea on who it might be?"

The mortician's head bobbed somewhere between a nod and a shake. "Not yet. We're waiting to see if there's a D.N.A. match on record. With the head and hands gone, there's little we can do quickly. And there's no distinguishing marks, save for this."

The mortician reached out to the body, taking care to only touch it with his gloves. He moved one of the arms, showing Murphy something on the underside.

"A tattoo?" Murphy asked with a frown. When Butters nodded, she leaned in closer, but still kept her distance. "What is that? An eye?"

"Yeah," Butters said. "I saw it while cleaning the body earlier. Looks a little bit like the CBS logo."

Murphy's frown deepened. "I'll check with some people, but I wouldn't expect much."

Butters just shrugged, and pushed the door closed, the body disappearing back into the locker. "You said to keep an eye out."

At that, Murphy's face softened. "Thanks, Waldo. I appreciate your help."

"I'll show you back up," he replied warmly, carefully disposing of his gloves and their masks. The two went through a quick scrub at the sink by the door, the smaller man making small talk about accordions or something. Within a minute, they were gone, the room once more dark.

I gave it another minute, and then reactivated the light spell and headed over to grab the last set of gloves in the box, before returning to the locker. After taking a look at the tattoo, which was just a faded green open eye of some sort, I closed up again, and washed off before heading back out the way I'd come.

As I headed for the jeep, I gave some thought to what kind of spell would inflict the damage the mortician had mentioned. It was unlike anything I'd ever heard of. There were spells that could inflict disease, but that many at once? That was beyond the skill-set of any casual practitioner.

Part of me had wanted to take samples to give to Bob, to see if he could sense anything from the lingering magics on the body. But it wasn't worth the chance that I or others might contract any of the contagions.

Once I was in the jeep, I started for home, still thinking about what I'd seen. Someone had taken great pains to hide the identity of the victim, but had missed the tattoo. And they'd certainly made the poor man suffer. Those deep cuts had blood in them, which meant the guy had still been alive when they'd been made. Although it was doubtful he would have lasted long.

No, whoever had killed him had been looking for information, and gone about gathering it in the more cruel fashion imaginable. Which meant there was a seriously sadistic magic user in town.

And if my hunch was right, it was the same person that had carved up Gaston LaRouche. It seemed unlikely that there'd be two deaths of such similar nature. Which meant that the corpse back there was tied to my case.

Distracted by that though, I didn't see the danger coming until it slammed into the side of the jeep. Something dark and massive hit the passenger side, causing the front end to swerve and careen into the corner of a building. The jeep's engine died with a sputter as I fought to clear my head. So much for being grateful for a lack of airbags.

Before my head stopped ringing, the driver's side door was ripped from its hinges, and a clawed paw grabbed me by my duster. I couldn't see much of it, other than a sense of something massive and hairy. The seat belt broke as the thing pulled me out of the jeep and hurled me into the alley.

I twisted as I tumbled through the air, my black duster flapping around me as the Winter Knight mantle enhanced my agility and reflexes. One hand thrust toward the ground and I shoved off the pavement, keeping me from landing on my ass. I spun around, landing on my feet as I slid backward, facing the thing that had ambushed me.

I had just a moment to observe the creature at the end of the alley. It was somewhat ursine, save for the sheer size of it exceeding any bear I'd ever seen. That, and the fact that it had four arms instead of just the normal two. And that it had a set of ram horns curling on either side of its head, which twitched as it exhaled a steamy breath between its two rows of serrated teeth.

Oh. And it had two pairs of glowing eyes on its face, both of which narrowed as it roared a furious challenge at me.

I blinked in surprise, struggling to recognize what I was seeing. There was a set of glowing sigils on its forehead, but nothing I could recognize. Nothing that made sense of the demon that towered over me, its arms extended out to either side as it unleashed a second roar, this one loud enough to shake the windows in the buildings around us.

And then the moment passed, as the beast barreled toward me with murder in all four eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

There was a time that things hadn't tried to kill me on a nearly daily basis. I distinctly recall that being the case, although enough time had passed that the details of such a life were a little fuzzy. Whenever that had been, it was a distant memory.

Back then, I likely would have run from the bear-shaped thing that attacked me in a dark alley. Especially when it was bigger than a clydesdale, had enough arms to manually draw and quarter me, and moved like hell itself were on its heels. I think most people would run as far and as fast as they could, under those circumstances.

I wasn't most people.

As the Brothers Grimm version of Fozzie Bear closed the distance between us, a switch was flipped in my head. There wasn't much thought to it by then; it'd become a natural reflex in the last few months to let the Winter Knight mantle take over when things got particularly hairy.

I leapt into motion, meeting the demon's charge with one of my own. I'm not sure if it was expecting that or not, but the lower set of glowing eyes widened perceptibly as an answering growl erupted from my throat.

By the time I'd taken my first step, the Winter Knight mantle had already gotten to work. A thin layer of frost sprung up across my skin and spread over my clothes. My leather duster, naturally black as night, took on a dark blue sheen as the ice thickened over the surface. The Stetson hardened beneath a thin glaze, even as more ice gathered around my hands and boots.

When I was two steps away from Fugly Bear, I turned on the gas. I'd started off at human speeds, saving the enhanced speed the mantle offered me as a surprise. Not realizing how quickly I could move, the creature had no time to adjust.

As such, the behemoth wasn't ready for my leap. With its body slung low as it ran on all-sixes, both sets of its arms were too low to block the knee I snapped up toward its face. The ice covering my kneecap had flowed up into a wedged poleyn, the edges of which were razor sharp. When the blow struck, the blade crashed into the bottom of the monster's jaw like a pick-axe shattering concrete.

The strike snapped the beast's head up, arresting its momentum as it reeled backwards. Four arms started flailing in my general direction, but they weren't quick enough. As Fugly tried to recover his balance, I lashed a kick at his chest with my other leg. Air swirled around my limb, the magic of the mantle adding a burst of wind to the strengthened kick. The magically-enhanced blow broke supernatural ribs, the sound of cracking bones echoing off the alley walls.

The monster tumbled backward under the devastating one-two, even as I dropped gracefully to my feet. With Fugly Bear landing heavily on his back, he wasn't in my way as I raised my right arm and hissed out a spell. " _Ventas servitas!_ "

The back window of the jeep shattered as a six foot long piece of oak shot from the rear seat. The pale wood was blackened on the wide end, with streaks of charcoal zig-zagging down the length of it. It practically whistled as it flew over the demon's head, the end striking one of the demon's ram horns as it hurtled past.

I caught it in mid-air, the wizard staff thrumming with power as soon as it hit my palm. Ice blossomed across it as the power of mantle blended with my own.

"You look like a cross between a Wookie and a Wampa," I observed as the monster regained its feet, both sets of glowing eyes set in a furious glower. My eyes drifted lower. "Although it looks like a certain part of you is more like an Ewok. That's gotta be embarrassing during mating season."

That seemed to frustrate the thing; maybe he was sensitive about it. Fugly unleashed another roar and charged a second time, moving entirely too fast for something its size. Whatever damage my blows had done did little to impair it. The thing swept toward me, its mouth foaming as if it'd chugged down a two liter of Coke and some Mentos.

" _Infriga via!_ _"_ I shouted as it came, while striking the ground in front of me with my staff and dragging the end diagonally across the pavement.

A thick layer of ice formed beneath the demon's feet, causing it to lose traction. Fugly tried to regain purchase by sinking its claws into the frozen surface, but the ice was harder and more durable than anything that formed naturally. And with it already moving at high speed, it couldn't catch itself.

The ice path was sloped, causing the demon to tumble to one side. As it slipped past me, I waved my staff again, letting loose with another spell. " _Ventas pulso!_ "

The swipe of my staff accompanied the motion of the wind spell, the brunt of which struck the beast on the side. It was enough to knock it clear off its feet, and the demon tumbled ass over teakettle before slamming into a steel trash bin.

"Hey, don't worry about it, little guy," I assured the thing helpfully. "They're always saying size isn't everything."

The demon recovered faster than I thought it would, gripping the side of the steel dumpster and pulling itself up. That it hadn't howled in pain upon contact with the metal at least confirmed that it wasn't a creature of faerie.

I had no clue as to what it might be, but that didn't matter at the moment. What mattered was that, despite the lower set of eyes losing focus after the blow, the topmost set remained fixed on me throughout the exchange. Which was a bit disconcerting.

" _Ventas pulso_ ," I repeated, flicking the staff again.

Hearing the spell, the monster braced itself for another attack. But this time the spell hadn't been aimed at Fugly; it'd been aimed at the dumpster.

The open topped steel container flipped under the force of the spell. As it twisted in the air, the demon disappeared under a pile of trash, just before the dumpster crashed down over it.

"You silly old bear," I mumbled, shaking my head as the dumpster shifted back and forth, the monster trying to find a way out. "Always getting your head stuck in a—"

The rest of my comment went unfinished, as Fugly's claws shot through the thick steel side of the dumpster with ease. The talons shone with a crimson light as they sheered through the metal as if it were paper mache. A second later, the entire thing was ripped in half as the demon's four arms tore it to shreds.

And then the air was filled with the slight odor of sulfur as the demon charged, its burning claws ready to do the same to me as it had the dumpster.

" _Veni che!_ " I gasped out quickly, my empty palm shooting down as I backed up. The spell bolstered my strengthened leap as I pushed myself upward, the charging monster passing just beneath me as I grabbed at the fire escape against the building.

The evasive maneuver didn't buy me much time. Even as my free hand wrapped around the railing of the second floor landing, the monster's legs tensed as he threw himself upward, his other four limbs all slashing at the steel fire escape.

I wasn't the fastest thing alive, and almost every variety of vampire could run me down in a foot race. But while the demon was fast, it wasn't able to keep up. Especially with another wind spell aiding my flight, which spiraled me further down the alley.

Seeing me escape, the demon clung to the collapsing stairwell long enough to brace itself for another leap. As I landed, I grasped my staff and pointed it at the oncoming beast, its teeth and claws shining in the dark with carmine power.

" _Arctis hasta!_ " I shouted, pouring power into the staff. The surge flowed through the wood and out the end, a wave of icy water spiraling up as it doubled the staff's length in the blink of an eye. By the time the spell was finished, a twisting blade of ice had formed a spear that caught the beast in the chest as it descended.

I dropped to a crouch, letting the staff spear brace against the ground. As the beast was already airborn, I pivoted beneath it, deflecting its descent so that it went overhead. It reacted quickly, its hot claws tearing at the ice spear that had held it at bay. Whatever power it was drawing on, it was enough to counter the power of Winter in the staff; between the weight and the heat, the spear end broke, cracking away as the monster rotated overhead.

But by then it was already past me. I sent another wind spell at it, which kept the creature tumbling further into the alley.

As I stood, I tapped my staff on the ground, the impact shattering the remnants of the broken spear. The wood itself was solid and whole, the runes upon it shining with a cobalt light as I watched the demon land with disappointing grace. Its simmering claws raked at the pavement, leaving smoking gouges in the surface.

My heart was pounding with adrenaline, the surprising turn of the fight exciting the part of me that thrived in such conditions. I could feel a fierce grin spreading across my face, the mantle enjoying the challenge.

I had just started to take a step forward, prepared to charge once more at the formidable beast, when the shadows of the alley twisted, before fading away at the sudden appearance of a bright light.

Suspecting that Fugly might have brought some backup with him, I turned halfway around, bracing for an attack from either side. But my eyes widened as they focused on the form of a large man bearing a shining sword of white light, his height equal to my own, but possessing a fuck-ton more muscle.

My sneer turned into a genuine smile as I looked at my old friend Michael Carpenter.

Not because I was happy to see him, mind you. Things had been awkward between us even before I'd become the Winter Knight; they'd only gotten worse ever since. No, my amusement was in the fact that if he'd heard my thoughts, he would have tsk'd disapprovingly at my choice of phrasing.

The light from the shining Sword of the Cross hurt my eyes, the thin layer of frost over my vision melting away as I blinked. Surely it was just because of the light, and not some sign that I'd gone so bad as to recoil from the pure power he wielded.

"Stand back, Harry," my friend said softly, his determined eyes fixed on the massive beast that remained crouched further down the alley. "This demon is dangerous."

"No shit," I observed, which drew a disapproving glare from Michael, before his gaze turned back to Fugly Bear. "But he's not all that. I've handled worse."

The Knight of the Cross just shook his head slowly. "No. You do not understand the nature of this creature."

"And you do?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Do you know why it came after me?"

A sidelong glance confirmed the answer before he spoke. "I do."

"Okay," I said, nodding. "Then I guess I don't need to question it anymore."

Before my friend could say or do anything, I turned and ran at the monster. Rather than meeting my charge, it braced itself, leaving the Knight out of it.

"Harry, no!"

My free hand slipped into my duster as I ran, pulling out one of the two rods that hung on loops on the inside. The glowing eyes shifted briefly to it, but then refocused on me.

As I closed on the demon, I thrust the staff at the beast, the length of it parallel with the ground as I focused the spell on its entire body. " _Infriga!_ "

Fugly's arms had started to rise, the glowing claws spread wide to grab at me when I came within reach. The air cracked like thunder as the temperature in the alley dropped dozens of degrees in an instant. The massive form of the creature rocked backwards as the frigid wind struck.

As it did, a thick frost sprung up across almost every inch of the demon's body. Thick curls of snowy white trailed backwards, while dark blues swelled between him and the ground, locking him within a glacier.

By the time the spell had run its course, the monster was frozen solid, leaving only its head and burning claws exposed.

A wind spell accompanied another leap, one that sent me toward one of the alley walls. My foot sprung off it as soon as it touched upon the surface, propelling me over the demon's shoulder. I could see it trying to turn its head around to watch me, its red-hot nails grasping at the ice over its fingers, as I swung the rod toward it. The ice enclosing it was already cracking, the incredible strength of the creature shattering the magical working.

" _Arctis gladio_ ," I whispered, sending a portion of my will through the foot long rod of wood. The power flowed out from the end like water, freezing into a flat blade once it'd grown long enough. The edges glinted in the light from Michael's sword, razor sharp and as cold as Winter.

My friend screamed one last time, something I missed as I focused on my target. The glacier around the demon began to break apart as he started to twist toward me, his two sets of glowing eyes burning with fury.

The magic-infused sword of ice slashed around, taking the beast's head off completely.

My leap carried me over the thing, and I rolled on the far side as its head hit the ground. I turned back and thrust my staff at the still frozen body, unleashing a force spell that shattered ice and bone, both of which littered the floor of the alley as the demon fell.

And just like that, the threat was over. The mantle shifted within me, a pleased feeling that receded as I regained control.

When I looked past the fragments of frozen monster, I saw my friend looking at me in horror, even as two other men ran up from behind. The others looked grim as they stared at the remains of the beast, and then up to me.

Tapping the ice sword against the ground, the blade shattered. I quickly tucked the frost rod back into my duster and started forward. "So what was that thing—"

My question died off as something glinted on the alley floor, catching my eye. I stopped to look, and saw what looked like a piece of metal trapped within a chunk of ice. Curious, I bent to retrieve it, but froze as a cold chill shot down my spine. The mantle was warning me of something, even as Michael suddenly lurched into motion, doing the same.

"Stop, Harry," my friend said as he slid his sword back into its sheath at his side. The alley darkened as the blade disappeared, leaving us in shadows. "Don't touch it."

"What is it?" I asked as I stood upright, looking down at the metal. It seemed as if the ice around it was already melting, which was odd considering that the alley temperature was below freezing.

By the time Michael got there, enough of the ice had sloughed away to reveal the curving edge of a coin. Then it was out of sight, as Michael wrapped a white handkerchief around it. Once he'd wrapped it away carefully, the cloth disappeared into a pocket.

"What was that?" I repeated, even as the other two men I'd seen approached from behind.

"It was a silver denarius," my friend replied softly. "It's how the Fallen exist in this world."

"Fallen?" I repeated, slow on the uptake. My eyes drifted to the sword one of the other men bore on his hip. I noted the hilt, which looked to have a nail worked into the grip. One that was all too similar to the one adorning Michael's own weapon.

"Wait, Fallen?" I said, my eyes widening as I realized just what Michael meant. "As in _fallen_ Fallen?"

Michael nodded grimly. "I'm afraid so."

"You're telling me a fallen fucking angel just tried to kill me?" I asked in disbelief.

"No," the shorter of the other two men said, his voice soft. Based on his accent, I was guessing he was Japanese. "Not just an angel." His eyes drifted up to mine, a weighing look passing between us. I broke the stare first, not eager to trigger a soulgaze with the stranger.

"Then what was it?"

"A man," he replied, his voice almost sympathetic as he looked down at the remnants of the beast. They were already beginning to fade, its form breaking down into wispy smoke and a slushy goo that was nothing more than the ectoplasm that supernatural creatures used to form their bodies. "A man that deserved a chance at redemption."

"He got what he asked for," I replied, my temper flaring at what I perceived to be his accusatory tone. "I didn't start that." I also didn't point out that humans weren't typically made of magical goo, because that should be obvious to everyone.

The shorter man just shook his head sadly. "No," Michael replied for him. "But you did not need to end it."

"And you would have what? Let it go? Invited it over for dinner with Charity and the kids?"

"No," my friend said, his eyes surprisingly soft as he looked at me. "I would have done the same, if I couldn't get through to him."

"What are you talking about?" I demanded, gesturing to the distinct lack of a human body. "It was a _demon_."

"The hosts of the Fallen are not all willing partners," the third man said, speaking up for the first time. He was just as large as Michael, and just as judgmental as he looked to me. He was dark of skin, which made his Russian accent surprising. "The man within might have resisted the demon." His gaze hardened somewhat as he looked to me. "If there was still good in him."

The temperature around us dropped again, my fingers tightening reflexively around the staff. In reply, the young man's hand slowly slipped to the hilt of his sword.

"Enough, Sanya," Michael whispered, shooting a glance at the other. "There's been enough loss tonight."

The Russian, who I took to be Sanya, just gave a doubtful grunt before turning to head back down the alley. The shorter man spared me another glance before following.

"What the hell was that about?" I asked Michael, my voice heated.

Michael's head shook gently. "It has been a long night. Why don't you come with us, and I'll tell you."

"No, you can telling me right fucking now," I snapped. "Why was a God damned Fallen angel trying to kill me?"

Michael didn't flinch at the first curse, but he did at the second. "Harry, please."

"No, Michael," I replied sharply. "Enough of your grammar school bullshit. Tell me what the fuck is going on."

My friend sighed, his eyes heavy as they met mine. I didn't worry about a soulgaze; Michael and I had already looked upon one another. I knew the temper of his soul as well as he knew that of mine. The beauty in his had made me weep. I had no idea what he saw in mine, and lately, I had no desire to find out.

As we'd already shared a soulgaze, it wouldn't happen a second time, assuming we were still the same men we'd been.

Seeing my determined look, Michael eventually acquiesced. "Ursiel is one of thirty Fallen trapped within coins. It is through the coins that they can bond with a human host, and work their deeds upon the Earth."

"Thirty, huh?" I asked. Thirty coins of silver. Which I was sure was just a coincidence.

Michael nodded. "The Fallen have come to Chicago. And we think they're after you."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 05

I just looked at Michael for a long moment. "You're telling me thirty Fallen angels are trying to kill me?"

"No," Michael said with a slight shake of his head. "I doubt that all of them are here. It's rare for the Fallen to be united under a single cause. And some are inactive, with their coins being held by the Church."

"Nice," I said. "You've taken them on before then?"

"Several times," Michael confirmed. "The Fallen are the reason the swords exist. We work to counter them, to keep them in check."

"Which explains why you and your friends came a'running?" I guessed. "I'm assuming that the big guy bears one of the other two swords, right?"

"Sanya carries Esperacchius," Michael confirmed, nodding after the taller of the two. "Shiro bears Fidelacchius."

I looked at the retreating back of the smaller man, but all he had on him was a cane. Looking at it, I realized there might be more to it than I'd realized. "Great. So the Knights just happened to be having a guys night out, and came running when they saw Fugly start up a game of bumper cars?"

My friend hesitated before replying. "No. We knew he would be coming for you."

My temper flared again, a hot scarlet flash of rage that was accompanied by a cold feeling that coursed through my veins. "You knew it would come for me, and didn't _warn_ me?"

"It's not like that, Harry," Michael replied cautiously. "We weren't _sure_. But the prophecy made it seem likely."

"Prophecy?" Before Michael could reply, I waived him off. "Just the cliff notes version, please." I started walking back down the alley. The frost covering me had already started thawing after I released the power of the mantle, and as I moved, some pieces sloughed off onto the alley floor. "You can fill me in while you give me a ride home."

"What about the police?" Michael asked, looking toward the jeep that was embedded in a building at the corner. I thought I could already hear sirens coming, and quickened my pace.

"Good point," I replied. "Priorities first."

I thumbed one of the rings I wore while channeling some power into it and focused on my thoughts. _Lacuna_.

We were almost at the end of the alley before I received a reply. _Yes my lord?_

The spell laid into the ring was similar to one I'd used when I was younger. When Elaine Mallory and I had been studying under Justin DuMorne, we'd worked out a communication spell that allowed us to speak telepathically with one another. It required a special bond between those involved, so we couldn't speak to just anyone. Not that we'd had anyone else in our lives.

While I hadn't used the spell with Elaine in what seemed like a lifetime, I'd adapted it for use with my head of security. The ring bound our minds together, requiring nothing more than my will to send a message to her.

 _Contact Sía's people_ , I thought in the direction of the ring. _Have them file a stolen vehicle report on the jeep. And tell them to have it backdated by one of the cops on their payroll._

 _Yes, my lord,_ the fairy's voice replied in my head. _Are you in need of assistance?_

 _No_ , I replied. _I_ _'_ _m on my way home now._

 _Understood_ , Lacuna replied. _It will be handled_.

I smiled, knowing that it was as good as done. That was what made Lacuna ten times her weight in platinum. She didn't ask inane questions every time I gave her instructions; she just did what I needed, usually anticipating things I hadn't thought of myself.

Satisfied that the issue was resolved, I cut off the power to the ring as I walked past my jeep while heading toward Michael's truck. When he saw me leaving, he looked confused, but trailed after me.

When I reached his large contractor's truck, I opened the passenger door. Sanya was seated there, and I tossed a thumb to the back. "Come on, move."

The guy looked ready to argue the point, but the older man gave a subtle grunt, the kind Mr. Miyagi might have made to Daniel-san when he was about to lose his cool. Instead of pressing the issue, Sanya climbed out and moved into the back. Once he was out of the way, I climbed in the front, just as Michael settled in behind the wheel.

"We're waiting for the cops, right?" he asked.

"Home. Now," I repeated. "Explain on the way."

Michael frowned again, clearly not pleased with fleeing the scene of an accident. Sometimes his sense of civic duty was downright odd. I mean, he wouldn't think twice of leaving if the only damage had been to the dumpster and the fire escape.

Scratch that. Knowing Michael, he would have warned the building management that one of their emergency escape routes was impaired, and left a card for the waste company to contact him for reimbursement.

But despite his hang-ups with fleeing the scene of an accident, the man turned the engine over and pulled away, leaving my vehicle behind.

When he didn't volunteer anything in the first couple of minutes, I urged him on. "C'mon, Michael. Tell me what's going on."

My friend sighed again, something he seemed to be getting better at. The last time we'd spent any extended time together, he'd been a happily busy man. I couldn't recall ever seeing him looking as down as he did now.

But that had been before our attempted raid on Bianca's mansion. Before I'd failed so miserably, allowing a girl named Justine to die, killed by Susan Rodriguez as she became a Red Court vampire. Before I'd defeated the Nightmare by consuming its power, but failed to finish off Bianca when I had the chance.

When I'd consumed the Nightmare's power, I'd been desperate. I'd known I'd be facing a desperate battle to escape Bianca's mansion, and had taken it with every intention of using that power to destroy my enemies.

But when I'd been faced with the reality of the situation, that Susan was lost to me, and that continuing the fight would instigate a war, I'd backed down. And that dark, cruel power had remained inside of me.

Even with the Nightmare gone, enough of it had continued to exist to allow its dark workings to linger. It'd been enough to keep Murphy in a hellish coma for several more days, which I hadn't been able to help her with because I was already on the run from the Council.

Even worse, the power that the Nightmare had used on Charity lingered as well. And my friend had lost his newborn child.

I looked out the side window, pushing those thoughts away. There was no use dwelling in the past. I couldn't be sure I was responsible for the child's death. It was only guesswork, based on what Michael had told me much later. For all I knew, he was wrong, and the power of the Nightmare had nothing to do with it.

There was no reason to to blame myself.

While I walled up my guilt, Michael set about explaining what he and the other Knights knew.

"The Denarians are Fallen. Some of the worst in hell, trapped within the coins and allowed to try to seduce the free willed to take them up. To corrupt them, until they are broken, allowing the Fallen to do their work."

"Three swords to take on thirty Fallen? How is that even fair?" I asked, only to hold up a hand to stave off the reply. "Never-mind. If it's not something more than 'mysterious ways', I don't need to hear it." I took Michael's silence as confirmation that I was right. "So what is this work they're doing? And why are they in Chicago? Why are they going after me?"

"We don't know what they're doing," Michael replied. "In general, the Fallen seem to be set on corrupting souls and bringing about hell on Earth. But as to their specific plans, I cannot say."

"What about what you said in the alley?" I asked. "Something about a prophecy?"

A disapproving tut from the back seat informed me that the shorter one, Shiro, didn't think Michael should be sharing all of that. But my friend silenced the protest with a glance in the rear-view mirror, before looking my way. "All we know is that it mentioned you. That if you got involved with the Denarians, you'd die."

"Well _that_ _'_ _s_ an insightful prophecy," I replied sarcastically. I waived my arms in front of me, mimicking a headline. "Breaking news: a man attacked by thirty Fallen angels ends up dead."

"Not thirty," Michael repeated. "At most, I would guess there are four or five in town. Perhaps less."

"Well, _that_ should be no problem," I replied with a roll of my eyes. "As long as they come at me one at a time, there shouldn't be an issue."

A gruff snort from the old man in the back drew my head around. The man met my frown with a passive gaze. "Ursiel is strong, but he is far from the most formidable."

I arched an eyebrow at him. "You saying I can't deal with whatever deformed Care-bear comes at me next?"

Shiro looked to the younger man in confusion, who shrugged, not getting the reference. While they tried to figure it out, Michael took up the case. "You were lucky with Ursiel, Harry. He could have torn you apart. Or worse."

"I think you're underestimating me, Michael," I replied. "That fight wasn't as close as it might have looked."

"From what I saw, you were barely staying ahead of him," Sanya replied from the back. "If Michael had not divided Ursiel's attention, he likely would have killed you on the next pass."

I turned to give the big Russian a flat look. "The only reason I didn't kill it after the first encounter was because I wanted to figure out what it was after first." I tossed a thumb in Michael's direction. "When he said he knew what was going on, questioning the thing was no longer necessary."

"So quick to kill," Shiro said softly.

"You're one to judge," I shot back. "How many of those things have you killed?"

"Some," the man replied with a humble bow of his head. "But none without first trying to save the soul within."

"It didn't seem like he wanted saving," I replied, turning back around.

The man didn't say anything, but I caught the slight movement of him shaking his head.

"Whatever," I said, turning back to Michael. "So a handful of assholes that sold their souls to demons are in town looking for me. Why?"

Michael once again hesitated. But while I was waiting for him to reply, I put it together myself. "The Shroud."

"Leave it alone, Harry," Michael said softly.

"Like hell," I replied. "You might have convinced me before all of _that_ ," I said, gesturing back toward the way we'd come. "But I'm not letting anyone come to my town and walk all over me."

"If you get involved, you'll die," Michael insisted.

"Let them try," I shot back, angered by his ongoing doubt in my ability to defend myself.

"The Fallen can do worse than kill you," Shiro said softly.

I rolled my eyes at his dramatics. "What's worse than dying?" I asked.

Michael gave me a long look. "They could offer you a coin."

I blinked at that, before laughing outright. "Thanks but no thanks. I've already made my deal with the devil."

"We can see that," Sanya said from behind me.

"Bite me, Boris."

"Just promise me, Harry," Michael urged as my townhouse came into view. "Promise me you'll stay out of it."

As he slowed to stop in front of my driveway, I turned to look at him. "Here's what I'll promise you, Michael. I promise to not let anyone kill me. I promise to not accept any offers of pocket change from strangers." I opened the door, and turned back once I was outside. "And I promise to kill anything that tries to do either."

For some reason that didn't seem to reassure my friend. "Not everything needs to be handled with such finality, Harry." His eyes rose to meet mine. "Not everyone who made a deal with a devil is beyond redemption."

His words gave me chills, which I promptly ignored.

"I spared a monster once before, Michael," I reminded him, my tone as cool as the winter air. "I spared Bianca when I could have ended her. And all I got for my efforts was pain and suffering. The loss of everything I had, of the life I knew." My look hardened. "I've learned my lessons well, Michael. Maybe it's time you did the same."

With that I slammed the door shut, and began the walk up the driveway, leaving my friend behind.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 06

Once I was inside, Lacuna arrived in a flash, advising me that the Streetwolves had seen to my request. The stolen vehicle report would be in place by the morning, which meant I would have a built-in excuse as to why my vehicle was crashed into the side of a building without me being present.

I thanked her, and made my way down to the lab, where I updated Bob on what I'd learned from the Knights, as well as what I'd found in the morgue. The Spirit of Intellect had whistled at the story, and asked the most obvious question when I was through.

"So you didn't say _wocka wocka_ even once?" he asked in disbelief.

"It's not as easy to work into conversation as you'd think," I replied with a roll of my eyes. "So what are your thoughts on this prophecy thing?"

"Doesn't sound good," the Spirit of Intellect replied. "Prophecies tend to be pretty accurate. If the interpretation is correct, then it'd take something BIG to prevent it."

"Interpretation?" I asked.

"Sure," Bob said. "Understanding the actual meaning of a prophecy is the hard part. I mean, saying you'd end up dead if you got involved doesn't mean you _wouldn_ _'_ _t_ end up dead if you didn't, right? And that's if they got the exact wording correct. For all you know, the prophecy said if you looked for the Shroud but failed to obtain it, you'd die. Maybe if you get your hands on it, naked co-eds will fall out of the sky instead."

"Focus, Bob," I reminded him. His random tangents about sex and the fairer of the species had dwindled as of late, but they still flared up now and again. "So what you're saying is I need to know exactly what I'm dealing with."

"Pretty much," Bob replied, his amber lights muted.

"So how do I hear the prophecy for myself?" I asked. "I don't have to go on some hero's quest or anything, do I?"

"Naw, nothing so cliche," he replied. His eyes brightened, something I'd learned to recognize as him showing surprise. "Hey, I just had a brilliant idea!"

"Care to share?"

"Well, you need to find out about the prophecy," Bob restated, "and you need to find the Shroud. Why not consult an Oracle and knock out both at once?"

I considered it. "Sure. Who were you thinking?"

"Ulsharavas," he replied readily enough. "She's a Loa that's got reasonable rates. Shouldn't take much to ring her up."

I nodded. "Alright, let's do that. Maybe we'll get lucky and grab the Shroud before the Denarians take another shot at me."

Bob's lights brightened again as he whispered softly, " _Naked co-eds..._ "

I just shook my head, and went about gathering the things I'd need.

* * *

It didn't take long to prepare the spell to summon up the Oracle. We already had everything required on-hand, and as Bob had said, it wasn't much.

There was a slight delay due to the cops showing up at my door. Thankfully it was just a pair of regular detectives, rather than someone from S.I.; if Murphy's people had shown up, they might have been a little more doubtful of my story.

Convincing them I'd been home all evening would be impossible, but I didn't sweat it too much. With the enchantments on the hat, there'd be no visual evidence that I'd been in the area, even if it might be hard to believe that another giant of a man wearing a duster had stolen my car. And the stolen vehicle report would back up my statement.

Once I'd seen them off, I gathered everything together for the summoning and took it to the small storage room beyond the lab, where the greater summoning circle was laid into the floor.

The circle wasn't actually new to the home. The previous owner of the house had been a Loup Garou, a man with a bloodline curse that passed from generation to generation that turned the victim into a ferocious beast once a month.

Unlike the more mundane shape-shifters, a Loup Garou has no control when they transform. They would hunt and kill anyone they came across, regardless of who they were.

To prevent his darker nature from ruling his life, Harley MacFinn had built an extensive magic circle in the basement, where he could trap himself on the nights where he turned into a crazed monster. It'd been destroyed by those trying to frame him for murder, but the bones of a powerful circle had remained.

After I'd moved in, I'd repaired the circle, while adding some enhancements. It was the perfect tool for summoning up creatures that you'd rather not have loose behind your wards. The triple rings would keep almost anything trapped inside.

In no time at all, I completed the summoning ritual that Bob had recommended, and waited for the Loa to show up.

It didn't take long. The wooden marionnette in the inner circle shifted, before sitting upright. The skeleton doll was a mirror of the one Bob used to get around. I'd originally intended to use his for summonings, but he'd requested a separate one. Sometimes the creatures I called up left magical residues, which he compared to having to use a toilet seat covered in someone else's piss.

I wasn't sure how he knew what that would be like, seeing as he didn't use a toilet. But I could respect the analogy.

As the marionette stood, I saw its wooden skull look around, before its carved eyes focused on me. There was no light shining from within like with Bob, so I had no way of knowing what the Loa was thinking.

"Why did you summon me, bokkor?"

The spirit's tone was curt, which I wasn't expecting.

"A spirit in my service recommended you to me," I said. "I am looking—"

"I know of what you seek," Ulsharavas replied, cutting me off. "If your spirit were wise, it would know that I do not serve your kind."

"Uh, my kind?" I asked, growing confused.

"You are bokkor," the Loa declared, making it sound like a curse. "You are twisted by darkness. I will not help your kind."

"I've seen some shit, but I'm not a bad guy," I argued, feeling somewhat offended by the blank stare of the doll.

"Your soul is corrupted," Ulsharavas stated. "I will not aid one such as you."

I scowled down at the doll, feeling my temper spike. "I don't think you understand—"

"I understand more than you know," the spirit replied. "I see what you have become. I see what you are becoming. I will have no part in it."

My eyes narrowed. "You know nothing about me."

"I know enough, bokkor," the doll said firmly. "I shall offer you no aid. Strike my name from your memory; do not summon me again."

"I'll—" is as far as I got before the doll collapsed, the spirit animating it disappearing in an instant.

I checked the circle, making sure the Loa wasn't trying something. If I broke the barrier and it was still there, there'd be nothing protecting me from its power. But after a moment it became clear that the thing was gone.

Frustrated, I went back out to the lab, where I relayed the conversation to Bob.

"That is odd," he replied, sounding surprised himself. He watched as I checked the ritual over, making sure I hadn't made a mistake. But everything had been right; the spirit had simply refused to work with me.

"Fucking spirits," I spat, throwing the book as a flash of cold rage pierced through me. It bounced off the wall and fell to the floor, where I left it for the time being. "Present company excluded, of course," I added as I calmed down.

"Of course," Bob replied drolly.

"So what now?" I asked as I paced the dark lab.

"I will give the prophecy some more thought," Bob replied. "As for the Shroud, you'll have to track it down via other means."

I nodded, and set about tidying up the mess I'd made while preparing for the summoning. Once everything was put away, I headed upstairs. There was nothing to do until morning.

I put the Loa's words out of mind. It didn't know what the hell it was talking about.

* * *

After getting only a few hours of sleep, the new day dawned, with me having made no progress. Bob hadn't thought of anything more to do about the prophecy, so that was put on the back burner while I focused on finding the Shroud.

I'd done what I could, trying to find someone or something that knew where to look. Those beings that replied to my summons either didn't know or weren't sharing. There were others that may know, but the cost of using them was too high, no matter the stakes of finding the Shroud.

Lacuna's people hadn't turned up any leads on that front either. There'd been an off chance that a fairy might happen across a trace of the Shroud's power, just like Snakeroot had sensed the dark magics of the corpse. But like Bob had suspected, the frequency of the Shroud's magic — assuming it had any — was too different from that of those in my service.

I wasn't sure if that meant something or not.

With magic striking out, I'd have to rely on more mundane means to locate the thieves. But Chicagoland is a big place to hide a blanket, especially if those selling it knew others were looking for them. And there was alway a chance that the sellers hadn't even arrived in town yet.

Thankfully, I had other resources I could call on.

The phone rang while I was sitting at the kitchen table eating a pizza bagel. Because bagels are breakfast food, according to Toot.

"I think we've got something," Moss said, sounding tired. My guess was that he'd been up all night coordinating the search for the two thieves.

"What'd you find?"

"I forwarded those photos around to everyone in town," Moss informed me. "I was thinking maybe one of our people at the airport or the train station might be able to help."

"Did someone see them arrive?" I asked.

"No," the man replied. "But you know how we've got people on the waterfront?"

That was an understatement. One of the things the Streetwolves had done to get themselves established in town had been to take over certain territories from Marcone. There were plenty of older gangsters that remembered the days before Gentleman Johnny had seized control; plenty that had been all too willing to help the rebuilt Streetwolves take something back.

The gang had managed to seize the Port of Chicago facilities around Lake Calumet, along with warehouses that serviced those and the trains. They'd begun to spread their influence from there, until it seemed like they had either members or informants all around town.

"I heard from a guy at one of the harbors," Moss explained. "A pleasure boat arrived not too long ago bearing two female passengers. They've stayed on board for the most part, and are scheduled to leave tomorrow morning."

"That fits the time-frame," I observed. If I was right, and the deal was going down that same night at Marcone's auction, then the two would be looking to head out of town shortly after the exchange was made.

"One blond, one brunette," Moss continued. "The pictures were too blurry for him to confirm, but he thinks it's them. Said that they had foreign accents."

"Lucky that he'd remember them," I said, not sure if I should dare to hope for some luck.

"Not all that lucky," Moss replied, his British accent taking on a tone that all but relayed his crooked smile. "Chamberlain said the blond's quite the looker, and the other isn't half bad."

"Good to know. You got an address for me?" I asked, retrieving a pencil and paper.

The gang member relayed the info, and I jotted it down. "They're staying on the boat?"

"So he said," Moss replied.

"Makes sense," I said, realizing that their choice in method of travel might not be chance. Magic broke down over open water; keeping the Shroud on the boat might prevent anyone from being able to locate it. Which explained why everyone had come up short, me included.

"Alright, I'll let you know if it pans out," I told him. "Thanks, Moss."

"Sure thing."

As I hung up, I finished off the last of the breakfast, and wondered if things were finally turning my way.

* * *

With the jeep still over in lock-up while the police dusted it for fingerprints, I found myself hailing a cab, which delivered me to the harbor a short time later.

It didn't take me long to find the boat. Moss's contact had provided clear instructions on where to find it, and I spent a few minutes just watching the craft. There was something tingling at the edge of my senses, but I couldn't quite make out what it was. It was a sensation of being watched, the kind that put the mantle on edge.

Nothing moved on the boat, and after a while, I decided to move in. If there was something watching me, I'd deal with it when I had to. Just like I always did.

I walked past the boat twice, trying to pass myself off as someone lost at sea. As I did, I noted movement behind one of the portholes on the side of the boat. Realizing someone was moving around inside, I took up a position just far enough to allow me to use a talent that likely wasn't magical, but was still rare in that day and age: I Listened.

My gaze focused on the porthole as I tuned in. At first I thought there were two people in there, but quickly realized I was hearing one end of a phone conversation.

"Unacceptable," said a quiet, female voice from inside the cabin. The accent was Spanish, but had the tell-tale cadence of someone that had learned English from a native. "The job entailed a great deal more expense than was originally estimated. I'm raising the price to reflect this, nothing more."

Frost slid over my eyes as I used the mantle to get a better look at the speaker. The ice shifted, reflecting and refracting the light as it zoomed in like a telescope. With its help, I could just make out the pleasant form of a dark haired woman. She was wearing a long gown of dark silk, and was pacing slowly back and forth as she spoke.

"Would you like an invoice for your tax return then? I told you the quote was only an estimate. It happens." The woman paused in her pacing as she received the reply she wanted. 'Excellent. As scheduled, then."

With the call done, the woman tossed the cell phone onto the bed of the cabin. She started walking away from it, but a chirping sound drew her back. After a moment, she answered without speaking. Whoever was calling must have said the wrong thing, as she said, "I'm sorry. You've the wrong number."

After ending the call, the woman tossed the phone aside again and let the nightgown slide off her shoulders. My pulse quickened as something inside me enjoyed the sight of her curves more than it should.

Once the gown was off, the woman stepped to a door. It opened upon what I assumed was the head, where I could hear the sound of running water. Steam rolled through the door until she closed it behind her.

I Listened for another moment, but didn't hear anything else of note. My lips pursed as I considered what I'd heard, and whether or not this might be the dark-haired Francisca Garcia from Vincent's files. The accent might very well match the name, but that was hardly enough to go on.

Ultimately it was the conversation that sealed it for me. That might have been an innocuous exchange between two individuals discussing the sale of baseball cards, but I doubted it.

With a glance confirming no-one else was around, I stepped onto the gangway and up to the deck of the boat.

I moved quickly, heading down the narrow, steep stairs to the lower level. The cabin was small, which is never good for those well on their way to seven feet in height. Nor was it handy to be lugging around a six foot length of wood. But I moved stealthily, unconsciously throwing up my veil as I slipped into the room.

Looking about, I tried to figure out where they might have stashed something as valuable as the Shroud. There weren't many places to put it. The cabin consisted of a double bed that took up most of the space in the room, a washer and dryer stacked in one corner, and a small kitchenette with a couple of refrigerators and a sink.

My eyes drifted back to the fridges, wondering why a boat would have two. With my spidey sense tingling, I made my way over. The first was stocked with some food stuffs, while the second turned out to be a false front concealing a cabinet with a metal strongbox.

As I reached for the small safe, I Listened again, confirming that the shower was still running. But my ears picked up the soft tread of footsteps elsewhere, and I froze.

Closing the door of the false fridge in a hurry, I moved to the corner with the washer and dryer just as a figure appeared in the doorway, brandishing a gun.

"What the hell?" the pretty blond said as she scanned the room, the barrel of the gun moving back and forth. She was wearing some heavy duty gear, consisting of fatigue pants, a heavy jacket, and some combat boots. Her hair was cut short in a pixie style, which reminded me of another blond I knew that was pleasant to look at.

Once again I had to force down the voice in my head that urged me to change my priorities. The mantle was already simmering after seeing Garcia in the nude, and I'd been surprised at the urge I'd felt to go into the bathroom rather than search for the Shroud. Now it was taking in the pleasant curves of the woman I took to be Anna Valmont, and wanted nothing more than to see if she were up to a quick use of the small bunk in the cabin.

Instead, I remained still, counting on the veil to keep me out of sight. I steadied my breathing, knowing the air-based veil would shroud even that.

After taking a moment to scan the room, the blond moved to the bathroom door. "Francisca?" she called softly.

Bingo.

The door opened to reveal the second woman, who was now wearing a simple dress. "Did you get whoever it was?"

"He's not in there?" Anna Valmont replied, sounding bewildered.

"Why would he be?" Garcia replied, arching a dark eyebrow.

"Because I watched him come aboard," Valmont replied. "I saw him come down here."

The other woman looked around, her search fairing no better than the other's. "Unless he can turn himself invisible, I would say he did not."

The doubt in her voice helped me to realize that she was joking. She didn't actually think I might have used a veil to hide myself. Which meant that they weren't in-the-know about magic. Most weren't, but I found myself slightly surprised.

"I'm sure I saw him," Valmont insisted, growing frustrated. She started forward, clearly worried that she'd made a mistake.

At first I thought she was heading for the lock-box, but realized after a second that she was instead heading my direction. Her eyes weren't focused on me, so I didn't think she'd seen through the veil.

Regardless of her intent, she was about to bump into me. As she grew close, I sub-vocalized a spell, gesturing at her hand. " _Arctis_."

The power spent on the spell wasn't all that much, but its effect was immediate. Valmont let loose a startled curse as ice blossomed across the gun she held, freezing the hammer into place.

With her eyes on that, I dropped the veil and reached for the gun. She'd only just begun to realize I was there before I'd seized the barrel in one hand, while snapping my staff at her head with the other.

The wood bounced solidly off her skull. I'd used just enough strength to knock her out, and did so again as I swung the staff toward Garcia, who's eyes were too busy staring at me in complete shock to see the blow coming. It caught her across the temple, and she collapsed back into the head.

"Sorry about that, ladies," I told their unconscious forms. Stepping over Valmont, I opened the false fridge and pulled the strong-box out. It was heavy, but not overly so. "Trust me, this is for the best. You have no idea what kind of trouble you were getting yourselves into."

Since neither was in any condition to thank me, I stepped out of the cabin and started my way up the stairs. As I climbed, the light shining down from above shifted, shadows falling across me.

I looked up in time to see another shape-shifted demon hurtling down at me, and a writhing mass of flexible steel blades shooting toward my face.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

I don't know what I expected of the Fallen. The first one I'd met, whom Michael had named Ursiel, had quite obviously started with a bear motif, and branched out from there. I guess the encounter had biased my opinion, as I'd been expecting the rest to be similarly formed.

The thing coming at me was nothing like what I'd faced before. First off, it was humanoid, save for a pair of legs that were jointed more like a cat's. The rest of it was decidedly feminine in shape, but any attractive qualities were mitigated by the olive-toned metallic scales that made up her skin.

The tendrils of sharpened metal that shot toward me emanated from the top of her scalp, the metallic hair weaving back and forth under her control. With her hands clenched as they reached for me, I could clearly make out the claws of steel that glinted in the sunlight seeping around her.

About the only things she had in common with the first Denarian was the sigil burning on her forehead, and the two pairs of glowing eyes, one above the other. Both of those were fixated on me as those deadly hairs shot forward, looking to skewer me.

Reflexively, I channeled power into the shield bracelet on my left wrist. My old one had been destroyed eight months prior, but its destruction had allowed me to work on improving the design. With plenty of resources available to me, I'd crafted a work of art, one that was better than the old design a hundred times over.

" _Defendarius!_ " I shouted, a translucent wall of magical energy forming between myself and the demon. The outer edge was coated in frost, the power from the mantle adding to my own.

The dozens of blades all struck at once, causing the shield to reverberate. I could see where the ice coating had been penetrated by the steel, as fae-magicked armor typically failed to stop the material. But the magical wall behind it remained intact, preventing me from dying right there on the spot.

Rather than simply coming to a dead stop, the steel hairs all lashed across the shield, shaving the ice away as they looked for a weakness. I'd taken care to extend it to the walls of the stairwell, so they couldn't slither their way past. It bought me a moment to study the demon.

"What are you supposed to be, a demonic weed whacker?" I asked, staring up at the two pairs of glowing eyes.

After maybe two seconds, the Denarian realized that it wasn't going to find a gap. Instead, its tractable hairs of steel shot towards the walls and floor. I heard the crunch of wood and fiberglass as they punched through, intent on circling around the defensive barrier.

"Hey, that's cheating!" I exclaimed.

A determined hiss escaped the feminine steel face of the demon as it smiled at me through the shield. I took a step back, trying to adjust the location of the shield. But with my staff and the lock-box in hand, it wasn't as easy as it should have been.

" _Forzare!_ " I shouted, thrusting my staff forward as I unleashed a powerful kinetic spell at the demon.

The steel tips of the hairs had just burst through the walls, ready to skewer me in place, when the spell hit the Denarian. She and her blades disappeared as she was thrown back, hurtling up the stairwell and out onto the deck. I heard her crash down, the tendrils slashing across the wood flooring as she tried to right herself.

I was up the stairs in a flash, and sent another blast at the demon. But she surprised me with her speed, the steel tendrils snapping down into the deck to leverage a side-step that narrowly avoided the blast. The Denarian's body swung out over the edge of the boat, her hairs clinging to the deck and allowing her to swing back toward me at speed.

I flung my left arm around, another hasty shield forming as she closed in. I kept my arm moving, willing the shield to spin with me. Doing so made it feel as if I were moving through quicksand, but the shield deflected her, adjusting her trajectory and sending her back toward the front of the boat. I saw her tendrils snap down to the deck again, gouging lines into the surface as she slowed herself down. She ended up in a crouch, her metallic lips bent into a snarl as her four eyes narrowed.

With the lock-box in one hand, I was limited as to what I could do. It wasn't terribly heavy, but nor was it something I'd care to run with. Not when being chased by something with the speed of the demon.

Still, standing still was doing me no good. Keeping an eye on the creature, I turned and leapt off the side of the boat, jumping across the small gap to the dock.

The demon shadowed my movements, and as I landed, the Denarian thumped onto the wooden planks further up, remaining between me and dry land. As I turned to face her, the hairs began weaving through the air in front of her, a never-ending swirl of steel that lashed at the dock as she slowly moved toward me.

I sent another blast of air at her, enough that she should have been sent flying. But as soon as she saw my staff moving, she braced herself, dropping down to all fours on the deck. Her steel fingers and toes clutched at the wood, before the sight of her disappeared behind a solid wall of sheet metal.

With her hair punching into the dock and flattening out, my spell just rolled over and around it. I saw the make-shift wall shudder under the blow, but then the spell was gone, and she was advancing again, her hairs once more whisking about in a cyclone of steel.

I backed my way down the dock, knowing that I only had so much further to go before I ran out of space.

"I bet you go through a lot of combs," I said, while trying to come up with a new idea. "And hats. Hoo-boy, I bet you're hard on hats."

The demon snarled as I glanced over my shoulder, confirming I only had another dozen yards or so. But as I turned my attention back to her, it was to find the steel-skinned demon leaping, her longer hairs swooping down like daggers as she tried to turn me into a pin-cushion.

Once again I raised my shield, blocking the attack. I leapt backwards as she landed, putting as much space between her and myself as possible. The Denarian remained crouched, her whirlwind of blades continuing to provide a spinning barrier that I couldn't get past.

As I whispered up a spell, motion behind the demon caught my attention. When I looked, I saw that the two women from the boat were making their way down the gangplank. The brunette seemed to be supporting the blond, but neither was doing all that well.

Something I saw startled me, and frost flew across my vision in a flash. As the ice twisted and shifted, magnifying my sight once again, I focused on the wrapped package beneath the dark-haired woman's arm.

"Barnacles," I muttered, realizing that I'd made a stupid mistake.

In my haste, I'd assumed the women would keep the Shroud in a safe. But as I thought about it, I realized that the lock-box would be the most obvious place for it. Anyone that came on board would assume it was there, and focus their attention on it.

Which meant the best place to keep it was somewhere else entirely. Like the basket of laundry that had been sitting on the stacked laundry machines. The ones that had been directly behind me, where Valmont had started toward rather than checking the false fridge.

The Denarian didn't look back, so she had no clue that the prize was escaping.

" _Rexus mundus!_ " I shouted as I finished my spell. The Denarian leapt as soon as she heard it. When she left her feet, her hair biting into the dock in a rolling wave to keep her from being blown away by another blast, I leapt backwards, well off the end of the dock.

The demon snarled as she slammed onto the last boards, her four eyes narrowing as she watched me land on the floating glacier that had formed behind me.

As I bobed on top of the lake, the Denarian studied me, considering her options. Based on the stench of lake water I'd smelled in the cabin, I had no doubt she could manage to stay afloat, despite being made of steel. She looked like she was considering a leap at the glacier, but knew that I could knock her off course once she hit the air.

"Sorry. There's not room on here for the both of us," I called out to her. "But I promise my heart will go on. Near, far, wherever you are."

Not bothering to wait and see what she did, I prepared two more spells. The first I unleashed with a swing of my staff, swiping the length of scorched wood across my front. The motion accompanied the force spell that cut through the four posts holding up the deck segment beneath the Denarian.

As the ground gave way beneath her, the demon thrashed, caught off-guard. Her body hit the water at the same time I unleashed the second spell. " _Rexus mundus!_ "

She screamed as her body was encased in ice, the weight of her steel form and the deck trapped with it enough to cause the glacier to dip below the surface.

I saw some of her hairs still thrashing in the air as she disappeared, trying to catch onto the dock that remained intact. Another air spell knocked them away, and then the glacier was adrift, floating away from the coastline.

Watching it depart, I sent power into the water between me and the dock. As I started walking forward, the glacier grew, becoming a path of ice only a few inches deep that formed just before my feet touched down.

When I reached the dock, I stepped up onto the wood planks, and sent more cold power into the lock of the box.

When the steel was frozen, I tore at the lid, wrenching it free.

The lock-box was empty.

Cursing, I tossed it into the water, and made my way back up the dock, leaving the Denarian to drown.

* * *

It was clear that the women were long gone, and the Shroud with them. I wasn't too worried, seeing as I had a good idea of where they'd be that night. But just in case I was wrong, I made a quick pit-stop back on the boat.

Down in the cabin, I looked to where the two women had fallen. I'd struck Valmont on the forehead, and my guess was that she'd have a nasty lump within a few hours. The blow to Garcia's temple was more fortunate; it might not have kept her out for long, but it'd broken the skin.

I was careful to take a generous sample of the sanguine fluid on the floor. The moisture from the shower was almost enough to make it worthless for magic, but I was confident it could still help me track Garcia down.

That was my intention as I made my way back toward dry land. With some luck, I'd be able to catch up with the women before any other Denarians showed up.

But as I was waiting for a cab to show up, the communication ring vibrated against my finger, indicating that Lacuna was trying to get in touch with me.

 _What_ _'_ _s up?_ I thought while channeling power into the ring.

 _Your presence is required at home, my lord_ , Lacuna replied. A cab slowed down, and I made my way toward the door.

 _Why?_ I replied. _I_ _'_ _m kind of in the middle of something_.

 _The intermediary for the duel has arrived_ , she informed me. _If you do not return to meet with her, she will interpret it as an admission of guilt, and will rule against you._

"Shit," I said as I settled into the back of the cab. The driver turned, either looking for a destination, or wondering at my outburst. I gave him the former. "Eight eighty-eight Ralston."

 _I_ _'_ _ll be there shortly_ , I told Lacuna as the cab started moving.

The fairy acknowledged that, and the connection between us dropped. I spent the ride home cursing my luck, and worrying that the distraction caused by Bianca's meddling was going to cost me the Shroud.

* * *

A light snowfall had begun by the time I arrived. There was a car waiting in the driveway when the cab dropped me off. As I made my way toward the townhouse, the driver's door opened, discharging a large man only slightly shorter than myself, but sporting a physique more like Michael's.

He wore a black driver's cap, although he didn't look like any chauffeur I'd ever seen. The rest of his outfit was more casual, although the lump of an underarm holster confirmed he wasn't some hired driver. I noted some paperwork in one gloved hand.

There was something about him that felt like danger, even though he showed no outward sign of hostility. If anything he looked bored, but still managed to look me over with professional scrutiny as I approached.

"You Dresden?" he asked, his gunmetal gray eyes expressionless as he eyed my staff. Which would sound bad if I were anyone but me.

"I tend to get his mail," I replied, my eyes shifting to the car. The windows were tinted, preventing me from seeing anything of the woman Lacuna had mentioned. "What do I call you, Jeeves?"

"I'm Kincaid," he replied, holding some paperwork out for me to review. "Our documents."

"Kincaid?" I asked, casting him a dubious look. "Nah, I'm think I'm going to stick with Jeeves."

"Then why'd you ask?" the man replied, an almost amused curl appearing at one corner of his lips.

"Kincaid sounds cool," I replied. "Maybe I would have let you use that name if not for the hat."

The man's eyes drifted up, catching sight of the short brim. "She prefers when I wear it."

"Uh huh. Whatever you say, Jeeves." I looked over the papers, although it didn't do me much good. I'd read over the Accords once or twice, but I was no expert. They looked to be in order, but for all I knew they were forgeries. "Alright, what do you need from me to get this over with?"

Kincaid's eyes narrowed slightly. "I think it'd be best to finish the conversation inside."

"That's not going to happen," I replied with a firm shake of my head. "No way am I letting strangers past my wards."

The driver's gaze narrowed further. "We would pledge to abide by the laws of hospitality during this visit."

"And if that were enough to ensure someone's intentions, we wouldn't be in this mess, would we?" I shot back. "Unless you're willing to concede that guests are completely restrained from acting against their hosts. In which case my innocence is proven, and we can all go about our day."

Kincaid sighed, a sound that seemed to imply he would rather just kill me and get on with his business. But instead, he just shook his head slightly. "Fine."

The man turned, although I noted he kept me in his peripheral vision. Points for him. I watched as he opened the door for the passenger, and waited to see who I was dealing with.

What I was _not_ expecting was a girl of about seven to pop out of the back, her snow boots stepping careful onto the precipitation gathering on the drive.

She was a tiny slip of a thing, bundled up against the harsh weather in a bright pink puffy coat and ski pants. Matching gloves and a knit cap completed the outfit. As she exited, she extended a small pink parasol, which she held above her head to ward off the snow.

"What the hell?" I said aloud, not bothering to hide my surprise. "Who are you?"

"I am the Archive, Mr. Dresden," the girl replied softly, her voice as bland as the man's expression. "I have been chosen to act as intermediary in your dispute with Margravine St. Claire and Duke Paolo Ortega of the Red Court."

I shot her a dubious look. "Aren't you a little short for a librarian?"

If she got the reference, she didn't let it show. "I am not a librarian. I am the Archive," she repeated. "I possess the accumulated knowledge of humanity." She turned to look at the house. "Are we not going to step inside?"

"No," I told her. "No offense."

The girl nodded. "None taken."

"This is ridiculous," Kincaid said, his eyes turning about. "We should at least get in the car. Standing out in the open is reckless."

"If you're worried about it, don't be," I told him. "You're on my property. You're safe."

While most of my wards had been placed on the house itself, there were still more around the perimeter. Other than a pair of small gates at the front and rear, and the larger opening for the driveway that could be closed with a rolling gate, the entire property was enclosed in an eight foot iron fence.

With a sub-vocalized spell, the driveway gate began to close. Kincaid glanced quickly to it, and then back to me. He didn't seem to like the idea of being trapped anywhere, but recognized the necessity for his own peace of mind.

As soon as the gate closed, the perimeter wards activated. With them in place, nothing short of a major supernatural power was getting through. In addition, it had a distortion spell similar to the one on my hat worked into it, which prevented anyone outside from being able to clearly see or hear us as we stood in the driveway. There'd be no eavesdropping, either by magical or mundane means.

On top of that, I activated the shield bracelet on my left wrist. The braid of five different metals glinted briefly, the magic illuminating the microscopic spells the svartalves had laid into them and the five shields that dangled from the chain. They winked out after only a moment, leaving no visible sign that it was in use.

Rather than forming a solid barrier in front of or around just me, the spell extended outward, casting a thin sphere of energy that encompassed all three of us, the car included. The light snow around us slowly faded as it slid off the surface of the shield, even as I allowed the air within to warm somewhat.

The Archive looked around at the castings before nodding slightly. "That will be sufficient."

I'd been hoping for something more along the lines of amazement, but it seemed the Archive wasn't easily impressed. She simply closed her parasol and shook it out, before looking up to me. "Shall we begin?"

"Sure," I said, leaning against my staff. "How do we get this duel thing over with?"

"First, I will need contact information for your second," the Archive said.

"That'd be Lacuna," I replied. "Does she need to be here?"

"No need," the girl replied, turning slightly to Kincaid. The man withdrew a card which he passed to her, which she in turn passed to me. "Have her contact me there, and I will tell her where and when we will meet."

"Can't you just tell me know?" I replied, growing frustrated with the pomp and circumstance that always seemed to accompany matters of the Accords.

"No," the Archive replied simply. And with that matter settled, she moved on to the next. "Second, I will need to know your choice of weapon for the duel."

"Give me a second," I said, as I considered the options.

In my eight months as the Winter Knight, I'd participated in several duels already, mostly stemming from petty grievances drummed up as an excuse for the two Sidhe Courts to fight. At least one had been because of something Maeve had done, with her choosing me as her champion. As such, I'd gained some experience in the different types of duels available.

The first and second options were a fight with melee weapons or hand-to-hand. The former might be iffy if I wasn't allowed to use my magical tools. I'd been practicing with bo staff and sword, but wasn't terribly proficient with either. My guess was that Ortega had been around long enough to learn how to use several weapons, and would likely be my better.

Not to mention that either of those choices would be risky. The strength and speed offered me by the mantle would be more than negated by Ortega's own. I was fast, but not as fast as White Court vampire, much less the superior Red breed.

The third option was to wield energy. Seeing as I was a wizard, that'd be the best choice. But I knew that Ortega would get to decline one method, and he'd most assuredly do that.

The fourth option was to fight with wills, something that I might have an advantage at, but might not. Without knowing how much power Ortega had accumulated over his extended lifespan, I couldn't begin to guess at what I'd be dealing with.

"I'll go with magic. Energy."

The Archive nodded. "You understand that he will most likely decline in that venue, and you will be forced to deal with another."

"Probably," I said with a shrug. "I'll worry about that if and when it happens."

The girl nodded. "Very well. That is all we need for now." She turned to head back to the car, but paused before stepping inside. "Mr. Dresden, there is one other thing."

"What's that?" I asked, noting the detached tone of her voice.

The Archive looked up at me, so tiny compared to the hulking towers surrounding her. "I would strongly urge you to not violate the rules of the challenge in any way. Doing so would be construed as an admission of guilt, and would be treated as such."

"Why would you think I'd cheat?" I asked, growing somewhat offended.

"I have heard about you," she replied, her eyes flat. "And my predecessors have known yours."

I assumed she meant the Archives before her, as well as the Winter Knights before me. The mantle of Winter's champion was known to be borne by viciously cruel men that would rather stab someone in the back than face them on fair footing.

"I'm getting tired of everyone assuming the worst of me," I growled out, the air temperature dropping again. "I'll play by the rules."

The girl wasn't put off by my tone, although I noted that Kincaid shifted his weight. "Very well. Have your second get in touch," she replied, before slipping back into the vehicle.

Kincaid was quick to close the door, and then made for the driver's. He kept his eyes on me, which irritated me even more. So much so that I collapsed the shield around us before he made it back inside. Somehow the shield seemed to have gathered snow at the top, which then somehow got funneled down into the exact spot he was standing as the shield blinked out.

The driver glowered at me as he brushed snow off of his shoulders. I showed how little that meant to me by turning my back on him, while simultaneously firing off the spell to open the gate.

By the time I'd made it up the steps, the dark car was pulling out onto the street. I spared one last look at it, before heading inside.

It seemed I had things to do.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

When I stepped inside, it was to find a dozen members of the household Guard waiting in the large foyer.

"What's all this about?" I asked Lacuna as she drifted closer.

The small fairy had changed out of her normal fatigues and into her dark battle armor, a customized suit made from a titanium alloy. The metal had been enchanted with lasting protections similar to those on my duster. Even the small sword and assorted blades she bore had been treated, ensuring that she would be able to hold her own against much larger opponents.

Each of the others with her wore matching armor. Such precautions had been costly in favors and errands to those that could supply the materials and work, but they were more than worth it. Combined, they made the Guard a formidable force against anyone that dared cross my wards.

"We went on red alert, sir," Lacuna advised me. The visor on her helm was up, leaving her face the only exposed part of her body.

"Why?" I asked as I hung up my duster and hat.

"Your ward lights, sir," she replied. "They shot to code red when the car drove onto the property."

Her words gave me pause, as I reconsidered the diminutive girl I'd seen.

The wards on the property had an alert system built in, which informed me if anyone of any significant power were approaching. There were five levels, the lowest being green, which would activate if minor practitioners or enhanced mortals like the lycanthropes came onto the property. Additional levels were set for those with more power, such as vampires, Sidhe, and wizards, all the way up to higher levels that would fire if a Senior Council member came knocking at my door. The highest only went off if the Queens ever showed up.

"Red alert?" I repeated, looking to Lacuna in surprise. "Really?"

The small fairy bobbed her head. "Yes sir. We even prepared to activate some of the defense spirits."

That would have been wasteful, considering that the sun was still up. But they were there to be used, and I'd rather have to capture more and bind them to me than die because I'd failed to use my full armament. "You're telling me that little slip of a girl was more powerful than Senior Council members?" I asked. They'd only get to orange, after all.

"Yes sir."

"Damn," I said, blinking slowly. "Maybe I shouldn't have antagonized her driver."

"He possesses his own level of power," Lacuna advised. "Although it was nothing compared to the girl."

I nodded. "Thanks. You can have everyone stand down."

Lacuna nodded and looked over her shoulder, and the dozen fairies disappeared. As they did, Toot drifted into the room, dressed in his normal clothes and carrying a bag of Combos. I'll let you guess what flavor.

"Where were you?!" Lacuna snapped when she saw him, clearly angry that he hadn't donned his own armor.

"You said it was the duel lady," he replied, surprised at her outburst. "Why would she attack?"

"Under the Accords, she has the right to kill him if she believes he's in violation of any of the rules of engagement," Lacuna shot back.

"Harry wouldn't break the rules. And I was making lunch," Toot replied with a snippy tone. "At least _one_ of us did something productive."

Lacuna started to reply, but I waved her off. "Let it go, Luna," I told her. "I need you to concentrate on other things."

The dark haired fairy looked like she'd prefer to anything other than let it go, but she still obeyed. Turning to me, she gave a slight bow. "What is it, my lord?"

"I've got to go prepare a tracking spell," I told her. "But I need to prep for this duel, too. I need to know everything there is to know about Paolo Ortega."

"Already done, my lord," she replied. "There is a file waiting in your lab."

"Excellent," I told her, once again surprised by her foresight.

"You want some lunch?" Toot asked, drawing my eyes.

"What's on the menu?"

He looked to Lacuna as he answered, his eyes narrowed. "Having taken the recommendation of others, I have prepared a salad."

Lacuna's wings fluttered, her eyes widening in surprise. "Really?"

"Yes."

"A _real_ salad?" she asked, her tone somewhat doubtful. "Not lettuce dribbled over a pizza?'"

"No, a _real_ salad," Toot replied coolly. He couldn't even pretend to be upset about her questioning him; he'd done just what she'd described several times before.

"Okay," I replied, trying to sound enthusiastic about the prospect of a salad. If Toot could try and appease Lacuna, so could I. "Let me grab the file and I'll read it while I eat."

"Allow me, my lord," Lacuna said, before darting off toward the winding stairwell to the basement. I left that to her, and headed for the kitchen as Toot alighted upon my shoulder.

"You really made a salad?" I whispered, letting a little bit of my disappointment show through.

"Not just any salad," the fairy replied in a whisper, his tone conspiratorial. "A _pizza_ salad."

That renewed my smile, and I continued on.

When Lacuna arrived with the file, I saw that she also had Bob's skull with her. As it was daylight, and there was plenty of sunlight shining in through the windows, she'd put the skull in a motorcycle helmet we'd borrowed from Sía. Lacuna positioned it so that the tinted visor was facing me, and away from the windows. I could just make out the glowing lights of Bob's eyes through the material.

"What is this?" Lacuna asked, drifting over my salad bowl once Bob was in place. Her eyes narrowed as she inspected the ingredients.

"A salad," Toot replied, continuing to snack on his Combos. "Lettuce, cubed pepperoni, shredded mozzarella cheese, chopped tomato, and a special dressing I whipped up myself."

Said dressing was a tomato sauce mixed with vegetable oil and white wine vinegar. And it was surprisingly delicious. For all his faults, Toot could actually cook when he applied any effort.

"And you have fruit!" Lacuna exclaimed, her eyes widening as she looked at a small bowl of berries.

"Mm-hmm," I mumbled as I ate a few just for her benefit.

"And its not those gummy fruits he normally tries to pass off!" she continued, still amazed. "It's actual _fruit!_ "

Toot looked smug, clearly enjoying her surprise. But it was his turn to be surprised when she swept toward him in a blur of dark metal. He flinched, but then his eyes went big and round as she placed a soft kiss upon one cheek.

"I will go get changed, and then I will join you," Lacuna declared. "If I may?"

"By all means," I told her. She bowed again, and then disappeared, heading off to the Guard's room.

"Wow!" Toot whispered, his voice filled with some of the awe that he'd had early on in their acquaintance. It seemed his infatuation with the dark haired fairy had been renewed with nothing more than a kiss.

"What happened with the Shroud?" Bob asked, clearly not as enamored with the exchange.

"Strike and a miss," I replied as I opened the folder on Ortega. "But I've got a blood sample from one of the thieves. After lunch we'll set up a tracking spell, and monitor her position."

I held off on anything more until Lacuna returned. As we munched on some rabbit food, I updated them on what had happened at the dock and in the driveway.

"Metal boobies?" Bob specified, his eyes flaring brightly beneath the visor.

"Yes," I confirmed. Because of course he'd fixate on the one thing that didn't matter about the metal skinned demon that had attacked me.

"Were they hard, or did they feel like flesh?" he asked in wonder.

"I didn't stop to cop a feel, Bob," I said with a frown.

"Did they sag, or—"

"The important thing is that another Denarian attacked you," Lacuna said, cutting off the pervy skull. "I would like to know how they have found you twice."

"They must be tracking me," I replied. "I felt something at the edge of my perception at the harbor, but couldn't pinpoint what it was."

"Unless they tracked the Shroud themselves, and just happened to get there when you did." Bob countered.

"No, I think they're following me," I told him. "Remember how I told you that the body they found overseas left clues pointing to Chicago?" The lights bobbed. "I think it was this Denarian that cut up LaRouche. The man didn't give up his partners, so the Fallen needed another way of tracking them down."

"You're saying they _want_ you to find the Shroud," Lacuna guessed.

"Yeah," I confirmed. "They left the clues for the Vatican to follow, knowing that the Church would send someone. The Fallen are probably looking themselves, but they've doubled their resources by letting Vincent search as well."

"So the priest might be in danger," Lacuna said.

"Undoubtedly," I confirmed. "Which is why I want you to put someone on him."

"Would that not be uncomfortable?"

I pinched my nose again. "Have someone follow him discreetly."

Lacuna nodded readily enough, but it was Bob that spoke up. "Why not go after the Shroud now?"

"If the tracking spell indicates they're somewhere secluded, I might just do that," I told him. "But I'm not going to risk getting into something in public. They were armed, and might just open fire if they see me again. Not to mention the disaster that would occur if one of the Denarians showed up in broad daylight."

"Would they do that?" Lacuna asked.

I shrugged. "I don't know. They seem pretty intent on finding the Shroud."

"There's something I don't get," Bob said, sounding puzzled. "If they wanted you to find the Shroud, why did that first one try to kill you?"

When we'd spoken about the Denarians the night before, Bob had been adamant about not writing out their symbol, nor even mentioning their names. It was his opinion that the Fallen were the worst of the worst, and that I should have gotten out while I still could.

Out of respect for his concerns, I didn't use Ursiel's name. "I don't think it was," I admitted. "Not at first. It could have cut my throat rather than pull me from the truck. And it didn't have those sulfurous claws for its first two attacks. It only got serious after I pissed it off."

"One might wonder why you continue to do that." Bob stated.

"It's kind of my trademark, Bob," I reminded him.

"Do you want me to place someone upon you as well, my lord?" Lacuna asked, trying her best to use the idioms as she learned them.

"You'll do," I said, glancing at the clock. "Unless we go after the Shroud early, I'll only be leaving to attend the meeting for the duel." I snapped my fingers and went for the card the Archive had given me. "That reminds me. You need to call this number and find out the details."

Lacuna took it and drifted toward the phone. My attention shifted back to Bob's lights shining beneath the motorcycle visor as he asked, "You plan on taking the Shroud at the buyer's exchange?"

"Or just before," I confirmed. "It's gotta be Marcone; I don't know anyone else that has the pull or the gall to have such a thing stolen. And he'll use the auction as a cover for his activities, providing a convenient alibi if one's needed."

I glanced over at Lacuna, who was writing something down. The handset for the old phone on the wall was sitting atop it, which required her to drift back and forth between the ends to listen and speak accordingly.

"When and where?" I asked once she was done, having replaced the handset back in the cradle.

"Tonight at eight," she replied, handing me the piece of paper.

"Should have known it'd be at Mac's," I said, reading her notes.

Mac's pub was a small place in town where the local practitioner community tended to gather. It was also Accorded Neutral Ground, which meant that any and all members of the Accords were obligated to behave while there. Those that weren't members were encouraged to act accordingly.

Get it? _Accord_ -ingly?

Lame jokes aside, it was a bit of a relief. If we'd met anywhere else, I would have worried about an ambush, powerful intermediary or not. But at Mac's, everyone would play nice.

"Wait, when is Marcone's thing?" I asked, realizing I might have a schedule conflict.

"Tonight at the same time," Lacuna said, before quickly adding. "But you cannot miss the meeting."

I nodded in agreement. "Alright. Another new plan. Once I locate the women, we'll put someone on them as well." At the rate I was going, my entire household Guard would be out on the town tonight. "If they see the exchange going down before we're done with the meeting, they'll need to get you word."

"Easy enough," Lacuna said.

"Did you get the tickets?"

"Mrs. MacTire's people were able to acquire two," she confirmed. "Do you plan on taking her as your guest?"

I nodded as I stood up and started putting away the remnants of lunch, before taking up the file on Ortega. "So we've got a plan. Track the girls down, and put a shadow on them. One for Vincent as well. We'll go for the Shroud if the opportunity presents itself; otherwise, we got to the duel meeting, and then the auction." Bob's eye-lights and Lacuna nodded, while Toot just kept staring at her with wide and adoring eyes.

With our plan set, we all went to work.

Seeing as my luck had been pretty shitty so far, I knew things would fall apart soon enough. But I did what I could to plan even for that, and hoped it'd be enough.

* * *

The first distraction to interrupt things was late that afternoon, in the form of a phone-call from Moss, who forwarded along a call from Vincent.

"What's up, padre?" I asked, irritated at the interruption.

"I wanted to see if you'd made any progress?" the man asked, sounding hopeful.

"I almost had it this morning," I admitted. "Things didn't quite pan out the way I hoped."

"Oh. That's unfortunate," he replied, his disappointment palpable. "Still, I hold out hope."

"Yeah, sure," I said, eager to get him off the phone.

"The package just arrived," he added helpfully.

"What package?" I asked.

"The one with the threads?" Vincent reminded me.

"Oh, right. I'm not going to need those." The tracking spell was in place down in the basement, and Lacuna had already dispatched someone to watch the women. From what I could tell, they were simply riding the El all around town, staying in public as much as possible.

"But I thought they were to authenticate—"

"Look, padre, I'm right in the middle of things," I told him. "I'll call you when I have something."

Before he could distract me further, I hung up, and started toward the lab. But the chimes in the foyer sounded, and I gave off an exasperated sigh as I headed back up.

Since the wards hadn't fired off any warnings, I knew whoever was calling didn't have any power. So as I opened the door, I wasn't too worried.

I should have been.

A tiny woman was waiting for me, her short blond hair blowing in the winter wind as she looked up at me. "Have a minute?"

I stepped out and closed the door after me. "Anything for a former friend."

My words caused the skin to tighten around Lieutenant Karrin Murphy's eyes, but she didn't rise to the bait. "I wanted to check in on you. I heard your jeep had been stolen."

"Yeah, that was unfortunate," I replied with a sad shake of my head. "And the thieves wrecked it, I understand?"

"Something like that," Murphy replied, her blue eyes surprisingly bright and crisp in the cold air. "We checked surveillance footage for the block. Unfortunately there wasn't anything showing the accident, but the detectives are following up on a white truck that arrived and then fled around the same time."

"Good," I said. "Hope they find the bastards."

"I'm not sure the owner of the vehicle is our guy, though," Murphy said quietly. "From what you told me, Michael Carpenter isn't the type to go hot-wiring cars."

"Michael? Really?" I asked, my eyes wide in apparent shock. "I wouldn't have thought so, but you just can't tell with people anymore, can you?" My eyes narrowed. "I mean, the people you trust the most often end up being the ones to stab you in the back."

Murphy's jaw locked at the thinly veiled jab, but again she didn't budge. "Either way, the detectives swung by his place to get his statement. Seems he was heading out of town for business, but they asked him to stick around for a bit."

"Sounds like they think they have something," I said with a forced smile.

"He's just a person of interest for now," she replied.

The silence grew for a minute, before the diminutive detective spoke again, changing gears. "You know what _else_ is funny?" she asked. When I failed to respond, she continued. "There was a disturbance down at Burnham Harbor this morning."

I shrugged. "Boats aren't really my thing."

"Yeah," she said with a nod. "Apparently someone else doesn't like them either. Seems that somebody set fire to one."

"Wow," I said, my voice dead-pan. "Are you _seriously_ coming to accuse me of starting a fire? Because that's kind of rude."

"Accuse you?" she said, her eyes widening slightly. "Why would I accuse _you?_ I mean, it's not like you could have been responsible. Whoever did it was tied to some really strange stuff. Like somehow breaking part of the dock and setting it adrift. And making an ice cube the size of a Buick."

Murphy might not know everything about the supernatural, but as the head of the Special Investigations division, she knew more than most. I knew she'd been keeping tabs on me, and there were plenty of people in town that had heard of my knighthood. Not to mention the rumors about what I could do.

"You know, now that you mention it," she continued, not waiting for a response. "There was that cabbie that got interviewed." At that, I genuinely blinked. "The detectives did a canvas of all of the companies, just making sure there were no pick-ups or drop-offs around that time. And one guy did recall a really tall guy wearing a black coat and a hat."

"What made you think to do that?" I asked, buying time.

"Oh, it's fairly standard procedure," she replied. "A lot of criminals think they shouldn't drive their own car to crime scenes, so they use alternative means of transportation." She blinked as she met my eyes. "Or when their own vehicles are out of commission."

I broke her gaze, not wanting to trigger anything. As I did, I realized something. I turned back to her, a soft smile growing on my face. "Was there something in particular you wanted, detective? Because so far you've mentioned what sounds like two crimes scenes." My smile grew. "Neither of which you have jurisdiction over."

Murphy's face hardened at that. "Damnit, Dresden," she hissed. "You know what I want? I want to know why I've got a corpse that was killed with magic. I want to know why the morgue's alarm system failed right before I arrived, and why the lights broke down, and why when Butters went back down to check on something, he saw that one of the corpse's arms had moved on its own. And why there was an extra pair of gloves in the chemical waste bin."

Oops.

"I want to know why your 'stolen' car just happened to get wrecked a few minutes later, _only_ _a few blocks from the morgue_. I want to know why your friend — assuming you haven't pushed him away, too — showed up to give the 'thief' a lift. Which all happened after there was apparently a conflict in the alley that left a _solid steel_ trash bin and a _steel_ fire escape shredded like the corpse Butters was working on."

The small detective stepped closer, leaving little room between us as she stared at my face without meeting my eyes. _"_ I want to know why some tall lanky guy with your poor fashion sense was seen leaving a crime scene where a Canadian boat was burned to the water line, the two occupants of which are now missing."

Murphy trailed off, her temper barely cooled by the chill in the air. She let the silence linger, long enough that I had to eventually say something.

"I'm sure they're fine," I said softly.

Her hard eyes flickered between mine, daring to trigger a soulgaze. "Are you giving me your word?"

"I'm being supportive," I replied lightly. "Who would want to kill some Canadians? That country's like the Alderaan of Earth."

"This is no joke, Dresden," Murphy growled. "Something is happening in my city. Something you're involved with. And I want to know what."

I leaned toward her, my own resolve hardening along with my eyes. "You know what? That's too. Fucking. Bad." My words shocked her, based on how wide her eyes got as she took a step back. "There was a time I would have helped you. There were times I _did_. And you know what you did in almost every instance?" I jabbed a finger at her chest. "You accused _me_ of causing it. Accused _me_ of being the problem."

"I think—"

"No," I spat, cutting her off. "You don't get to justify yourself. I tried helping you numerous times, and you put me in cuffs just as many times. And now you're at my door, throwing veiled accusations my way _again_."

Murphy's surprise faded as her face hardened again. "I came after you when I had reason to. When you _lied_ to me; _kept_ things from me."

She pointed at the house we stood in front of, her voice growing harsh. "You remember the first time we were here?" Her finger swung back to me. "I put you in cuffs back then because you kept things from me. You withheld information that could have saved a woman's life. You violated the _law_ , just like you're doing now. Just like you always have."

"What the hell are you talking about?" I growled, my blood temperature rising even as the air around us dropped several degrees.

"You run around this town as if you own it," she said harshly. "You act like it's yours to defend or destroy, however you see fit. You take the law into your own hands."

"I have to, when the law lets people like Marcone have free reign to do as they please," I shot back. "You have _no idea_ what's going on in this town. _No idea_ what factions are trying to move in; to expand their territory, all at the cost of mortal lives."

"I know that the Streetwolves are expanding theirs," she replied hotly. "And I know you're helping them do it." Her voice almost broke at that, taking on a desperate undertone. "Harry, you're _helping_ the _bad guys_. You're helping the people that are _making things worse._ "

"If I'm helping anyone, it's the people that didn't turn their backs on me when I needed help," I replied coldly. "And the Streetwolves are _not_ the problem. Marcone is. The Reds are. You should be going after _them_ , rather than banging on _my_ door, chasing down things that have _nothing to do with you_."

As I said the last, I unconsciously stepped forward, closing the distance between us. In response, Murphy stepped back, her feet slipping on the ice that had suddenly sprung up across the stone porch. I saw her eyes widen as she began to fall backwards, her marital arts training no help as she lost her footing.

My hand shot out, grabbing her jacket just before she took a tumble. She stared at me, her eyes like saucers as my words hissed from between my lips, gusts of hot breath steaming in the nearly arctic weather that had descended across my porch.

"You need to learn to watch your step, detective," I said quietly, but certainly not softly. "Because one day you're going to step too far. And I'm not going to be there to save you."

I released my hold on her jacket, and she stepped gingerly to avoid slipping again. By the time she'd found her balance, my door was slamming shut, leaving her alone in the cold.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Lacuna and I arrived a little before eight to find Mac's pub all but deserted.

I'd dressed well for the occasion, but not because I'd wanted to. With me being surrounded by enemies, there was nothing I would have rather had than my duster. But as there was little time between the duel meeting and the formal party, I was stuck wearing one of my nice suits.

I wasn't completely defenseless without the duster. With my numerous roles to fulfill as Winter Knight, I'd had to acquire some decent clothes to wear on occasion. But as those occasions were typically more dangerous than dark alleys, I'd worked some defensive spells into the clothes. It was a pain to keep them fresh, and they didn't last as long as the ones on my duster, but they would be enough to keep me alive in a pinch.

As I descended the steps into Mac's, only the bartender himself was present, wiping down the bar with a white rag. Upon our entry, the man looked up, his face neutral as he nodded to me. I returned it, and joined him at the bar, with Lacuna on alert perched upon my shoulder.

Mac was one of those people that don't seem to age. His head was bald and smooth, and he'd gained a few wrinkles at some point over the years. But it was still hard to tell if the man was in his thirties or fifties; sometimes the lines looked to be caused by age, but every once in a while he'd crack a smile, and I'd swear they were just old laugh lines that didn't get used all that much anymore.

I could sympathize with that.

"Give me your best, Mac," I told him as I sidled up.

The man grunted in reply, but retrieved a warm lager that was its own slice of heaven on earth. It would have been better cold, but Mac wouldn't hear of it. And if he knew the ones I bought and took home were kept in an ice box, he was liable to stop selling them to me.

I settled in at the bar, Lacuna settling delicately on the wooden surface. Mac didn't seem to mind, and even offered her a lemonade with ice chips, which she accepted gratefully. The charmer even put it in a small glass small enough for her to hold. I had to wonder if it wasn't made specifically for dew drop fairies; it was smaller and slimmer than a shot glass, and I couldn't think of any other purpose for having such a thing.

But that shouldn't have surprised me. Mac was well attuned to the magical scene, despite having no talent for it himself. His pub was more like an underground den, which most wizarding types appreciated. The place was even designed to break up lingering magical energies.

Thirteen tables were interspersed around thirteen columns, the latter of which were carved with depictions of mythical folklore. Thirteen fans spun idly overhead, never seeming to break down despite the number of practitioners that made their way through. And despite the limited lighting, the place was well lit, with thirteen mirrors hanging on the walls to reflect what illumination there was.

It was a nice sort of place, one that I'd visited as often as I could before my life had irreparably changed. Before I'd become the Winter Knight, and my mere presence became enough to scare most patrons off.

No, like many things, my time for lingering at Mac's was over. Now I just settled for stopping in to pick up beers to enjoy at home.

I had enjoyed most of the bottle he'd given me by the time the door opened. I turned to see the familiar form of Kincaid standing in the doorway, looking down the steps at me. He scanned the room quickly, before stepping aside to let the Archive in.

She was wearing the same pink outfit as before, sans the parasol. As she stepped into the room, she made a courteous — and surprisingly deep — bow to Mac. "Good evening, sir."

"Good evening," Mac grumbled softly, inclining his head. "Would you care for anything?"

"No thank you," she replied with all the seriousness of a seven-year-old. "It's past my bedtime."

I blinked at that, and looked to Kincaid, who had ditched the hat at some point. "Late night out on the town?" I asked.

The man just looked at me with a flat glare. "She wouldn't have come, but for some reason felt it was necessary."

"Why?"

"Because of you," he replied. At my surprised look, he added. "She thinks your behavior will be better if the big stick is here to smack you down."

"I am not a stick," the Archive replied primly, seating herself at one of the tables.

"Big stick," Kincaid mouthed to me while nodding at the girl. I interpreted it as the threat that it was.

"Whatever," I replied, trying to not let it get to me. It'd taken me over an hour to calm down after Murphy's visit, and I didn't want to get worked up again. "Where are the others?"

"They have a few minutes yet," Kincaid replied, checking his watch. Mac lifted an eyebrow at the man, but he just shook his head. "I'm driving."

"The Archive can't drive herself?" I asked, trying to goad him.

"I can't reach the pedals," she replied. Despite her serious tone, her legs were swinging beneath the chair, unable to touch the floor. I smiled at the idea of her trying to drive.

And then I remembered Lacuna's comments on the ward readings, and that she could crush me like a bug.

My smile faded, and I resolved myself to finish my beer in silence.

I did, and was considering ordering a second when the front door opened again. I turned to see who had arrived, and saw two more figures descend into the room.

The first was Paolo Ortega. I'd met him once before, at Bianca's mansion. He'd been the one to deliver the warning to me; that my actions were in danger of inciting a war between the White Council and the Red Court. In a way, he was responsible for me backing down that night. Which made him responsible for everything that had happened since.

He was of average height, with a slightly heavier build that was largely attributed to muscle. His broad shoulders and deep chest looked sharp in his thousand dollar suit, a gray-and-silver affair that was striking. His skin was tanner than I'd imagine of a Red Court vampire, seeing as their kind would burn if exposed to the sun.

I knew from Lacuna's file that he'd fought several previous duels, and had obviously survived each. Word on the street was that he was old and connected; his wife was Duchess Arianna Ortega, daughter of the Red King himself. She was quite possibly the most powerful vampire there was outside of the Lords of Outer Night, the Reds' ruling class.

Keeping such company, I knew Ortega would most likely be one of the most powerful Red Court vampires there was. With centuries of time to acquire power, he would have a strength and speed that exceeded my own, plenty of experience in every type of combat, and a ruthlessness born of bitter survival.

I could relate to the last.

My eyes flitted over him, taking in the details quickly. In the grand scheme of things, he wasn't that important. If I had to go through him to settle the issue with Bianca, so be it. I had bigger concerns. Like a prophecy declaring my death, and Fallen angels trying to make that happen. Like an object that might have more power than anything I'd ever held before, save for a creation of Mother Winter herself. Not to mention the Big Stick in the corner that was ready to smack me down.

But despite all of that, none of it was as important as the second person to walk into the pub. None of it held a candle to the woman that I realized with breath-taking shock was most likely Ortega's second.

My eyes, and my world, became fixated on the beautiful form of Susan Rodriguez.

My old girlfriend looked stunning in a form-fitting red gown. The fabric hung at her curves, displaying just enough cleavage and leg to draw the eye, but leaving you wanting more. She was even more beautiful than I recalled, her dark hair a cascade of loose locks around her striking face. She was a vision, a stunner that set my heart racing.

She was also a blood-sucking vampire.

The last time I'd seen Susan, she'd crouched beside Bianca's throne upon the dais in her courtyard. She hadn't been beautiful then; having just killed Justine, Susan had turned into a Red Court vampire. Her flesh and body had mutated, becoming the dark, twisted thing that was the vampire's true form.

What I was seeing now was nothing more than a flesh mask. A disguise, to let the monster she'd become pass as human.

I had to try and remind myself of that as she slowly approached, an all too familiar smile on her lips.

"Harry Dresden, as I live and breath," she said, her smile growing as she observed the effect she was having on me.

"Well, maybe not the former," I said, the words out of my mouth so fast I didn't have time to even realize what I was saying.

But instead of being offended, Susan just laughed, a real laugh rather than something forced. It made her dress move in intriguing ways, not that I was watching. Her eyes watered with mirth, and she looked up, blinking away the tears. "Damnit, Harry. If my mascara runs, so help me…"

And for an instant, I forgot everything that happened. I forgot that the woman I had known had died in the basement of Bianca's mansion. I forgot that she'd killed another young woman, taking her life blood and completing the transformation into a blood-thirsty killer. I forgot that she'd spent that last couple of years rising in Bianca's small court, making a name for herself.

I forgot all of that, and just enjoyed the sight of the woman I'd loved.

"Hello, Susan," I said softly, letting more tenderness show than I'd intended.

"Hello, Harry," she replied, matching my own tone.

"Would you care to make introductions?" Ortega said politely, ruining the moment.

"Go fuck yourself with a crucifix, blood bladder," I spat, before turning back in time to see Susan's wide-eyed and amused look. "Do you want something to…" I trailed off. "Sorry, I just realized how insensitive that question was going to be."

"I would _love_ a drink," she said, her eyes sparkling with a desire both foreign and familiar. But she turned to Mac, her bright smile charming even the dower bartender. "Whatever Harry was having, please."

Mac moved to retrieve a beverage, and I took the opportunity to study Susan's profile. It was the same as it had always been, the same I'd looked upon in that bar countless times in our almost two years together. The same that had spent countless nights in my bed.

It was the same, and yet not the same at all.

She must have sensed my thoughts, because her smile slowly faded. "Harry."

"You're not her," I said softly, bitterly. "You look like her, and sound like her, and have her memories. But you're not her."

"Of course I'm me," she replied softly. I noted that Ortega had drifted away to speak to Kincaid, who didn't looked thrilled at the development. Lacuna had wandered over to the Archive to tell her about the delicious lemonade, and Mac had left after delivering Susan's beer.

We were as alone as we could be.

"You're not," I repeated, keeping my voice low as I averted my eyes. "Susan Rodriguez died a long time ago."

"Don't be an ass, Harry," Susan replied, surprisingly calm. "I'm not what I was, but I'm still me."

"You're a vampire, Susan," I said. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry—"

"Stop, Harry," she said, cutting me off as I'd grown more contrite. "There's no changing what happened. And it's more my fault than yours."

I looked up at that, into those dark eyes that I'd spent so many nights staring into. The same eyes that I'd soulgazed with, back when she'd had a soul to see.

"I knew it would be dangerous," she was saying, her head slowly shaking back and forth. "But I went anyway. That was my decision. Mine. As are the consequences."

"Do you…" I started, unsure of how to ask what I wanted to ask. "Do you remember everything?"

"About that night?" she asked, her head tilting curiously.

"About us," I replied, my voice a hushed whisper.

The same night Susan had died, my godmother had made a bargain with the woman. Like usual, the Sidhe got the better end of the deal. As a result, Lea had taken all of Susan's memories of us. Of our time together. Of everything we'd been.

In truth, I blamed myself for what had happened to her. And part of me blamed Susan as well, for forging an invitation to the party. But another part blamed Lea. If she hadn't taken Susan's memories, if she hadn't stolen our history, maybe I could have gotten through to her in that basement. Maybe I could have prevented her from attacking me, and nearly killing me. Prevented her from killing Justine.

Sometimes, I could almost imagine a world like that. A world where I'd gotten through to her, and kept her from turning. A world where she might have continued on in the state between life and death, buying me the time I needed to find a cure for her. A world where we might still be together.

But that was just a dream. One that shattered upon waking, to find myself in the nightmare that had become my life.

There was no going back. No changing what had been done.

But there might be a way to change our future.

"Listen…" I said. "After this is over…"

A pained expression flitted across Susan's face. "Harry, even if you survive the duel… we can't be together."

"Yes you can," a voice said, interrupting us again.

I turned to look at Ortega, and realized Kincaid had been right. Because the only thing keeping me from killing the vampire on the spot was the presence of the Archive, who was watching tentatively from across the room.

"You can still be together," the man repeated, his voice conversational and friendly as he looked between us. "All you have to do is except our gift."

"Your gift?" I repeated.

"It would solve all of this," Ortega insisted, his dark eyes fixing on mine. I broke first; not because I didn't want to see his soul. You had to have one first. No, I broke it because things like him can do things to people like me, just by entrancing us with their eyes.

"You're asking me to become like you," I said softly.

"It would end this nonsense," Ortega insisted, seeming earnest. "I do not wish to go to war with the Winter Court. Nor do I wish to kill you, and risk earning the ire of the Winter Queen."

"So you don't want to kill me, but you want to kill me?" I asked, not following his logic.

"Life and death are not that simple, Mr. Dresden," the vampire informed me. "Not so black and white."

"No. There's Red, too," I said.

"I am being serious, Mr. Dresden. This need not end badly for either of us."

"And how do you think Mab would react to losing her Knight to the Red Court?" I asked, arching an eyebrow.

"From what I've heard, she's not that pleased with your service to begin with," Ortega said, echoing my gesture with his own. "I have no doubt she'd find another killer to bestow her mantle upon."

That wasn't entirely wrong. Mab was far from pleased with me on any given day. That I completed her tasks with the bare minimum of grace and propriety, while offering whatever resistance I could, didn't seem to be as amusing for her as it was for me.

But it hadn't been Mab that had made me the Winter Knight. It had been Mother Winter, who took no issue with my antics, as long as her enemies died. Which they did.

"Let me make you a counter offer," I said to him, leaning in. "If you ever ask me to be one of you again, I'm going to lock you in your coffin, drag you out into the middle of a field on a sunny afternoon, and rip the fucking lid off." Frost formed on Susan's bottle as I towered over Ortega. "And when you burst into flames, I'm going to chug down a couple liters of holy water, and piss on you until the flames go out."

Ortega didn't have much to say to that. Instead, I watched as his face went stony, his eyes shifting to a solid black as he let his true nature peek out. "I will take a great pleasure in killing you, Mister Dresden."

"Mister Dresden was my cat's name," I replied softly. "You can call me Your Second Death."

Ortega's hands clenched, and I thought for a second that I'd succeeded in pushing him too far.

It'd been a long shot of a plan to begin with. One that Lacuna thought me foolish to even try. But if I could piss the vampire off enough, to make him attack me at Mac's, then he'd be in violation. And with the Archive present, he'd be dead, and I'd be free of the trial nonsense.

For just a second I dared to hope that it'd worked. But it wasn't to be.

A soft cough cut through the room, and Ortega turned to look at Mac. The bartender didn't seem pleased with either one of us, most likely because he was worried that we'd cause havoc in his establishment.

"Mr. McAnally is correct," Ortega finally said, slowly looking back to me. When he did, it was with normal eyes. "We shall finish this tomorrow."

I kept my disappoint from showing. "Make sure we know where to send the ashes," I replied.

Ortega's jaw clenched again, but instead of trying to beat me in a match of Who Can Have the Last Laugh, he simply turned and walked toward the Archive, who was watching us carefully from across the room. "My attempt at resolving things peacefully has failed. We are unfortunately resigned to fight."

The Archive nodded, and stood from the table. "Very well. We will begin the final arrangements once Mr. Dresden's second arrives."

I blinked at the girl, my simmering rage cooling at her words. "My second is here."

The girl looked to me in confusion, before glancing around the room. "Where?"

"I am his second," Lacuna announced, flying to stand on the bar-top beside me.

The Archive's head cocked to one side, clearly surprised. "You are not eligible to be his second."

"What are you talking about?" I asked. "You had no problem with it when she called you earlier."

"I did not know that she was a servant of Winter at that time," the girl replied, somehow remaining calm despite my tone.

"She's not," I growled out, taking a step forward. Kincaid did as well, and I stopped myself from making the situation worse. "She's my personal assistant. Sworn to me and me alone."

"Sworn to the Winter Knight," the Archive countered. "As such, she is in service to Winter."

"That's not how it works," I argued, suddenly feeling like someone was pulling the carpet out from beneath my feet. But as there was no carpet, the fall was just going to hurt all the more. "She's sworn an oath to me personally."

"You are the Winter Knight," the Archive said quietly. "There is no separating the two. Your Queen has forbidden anyone in the service of Winter to act as your second. As such, she is not eligible."

A smile that had begun to settle onto Ortega's face bloomed into a full-blown grin. I wanted to take his head off then and there, but that'd just bring the Archive down on me. I glanced to Susan, who seemed honestly surprised and distressed about the turn of events.

"Do you have anyone else to act as your second?" the Archive asked, her eyes fixating on me in an alarming way.

"I…" I began, as my mind struggled to catch up.

My mind raced, trying to think of someone that I could call. I just needed someone to stand beside me for ten fucking minutes. They didn't even have to _do_ anything. Just stand there.

I turned to Mac, but saw that he'd already anticipated my thought. The barest shake of his head told me his answer before I asked. "I'm out," he said simply, as if that were a good enough reason to send me to my death.

"How much time do I have?" I asked the Archive.

Her silence was my answer.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Dresden," the Archive finally said, sounding like she meant it. "The rules require you to have a second. If you do not, then I will be forced to rule against you." Her voice grew firmer. "Immediately."

Bless her heart, Lacuna tensed beside me, ready to go down with her captain. Susan stepped back, her face frozen somewhere between stoic and heartbroken. Even Mac stepped away, as if to distance himself from the consequences of his refusal to help.

Kincaid looked on with a stony face, while Ortega looked on with glee, as the Archive sighed. "Very well. I rule in favor of Duke—"

Her words died as the front door opened.

We all looked as one at the man slowly descending the steps, a relaxed look on his face as he returned our gaze.

"Closed," Mac grunted out. I turned to look at the barkeep when I heard his tone, which was as ugly as I'd ever heard from him. His face matched his voice, his eyes narrow and disapproving.

"I am not here to patronize your establishment, Mr. _McAnally_ ," the man replied with the barest of smiles on his lips, while putting an odd emphasis on Mac's name.

"This establishment has been reserved for an Accords function," the Archive explained calmly. "I am afraid you are not welcome at this time."

"I am a member of the Accords, am I not?" the man replied, his smile widening as he looked at the little girl. I blinked, not recalling when Kincaid had moved. But at some point he had, putting himself directly between the girl and the man that came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs.

He wasn't terribly tall, probably around average or so. His hair was neat and dark, save for an offset streak of silver running to one side. His build was slim, and he wore a nice suit beneath a tan trench coat. It was a very commonplace look, save for the expensive cut, and the odd choice of a slim gray tie.

"What are you doing here?" Kincaid asked, his voice hard. Even with the most antagonizing version of myself, I hadn't gotten the rise out of him that this man did with a smile.

I looked to the man, who's dark eyes seemed bemused as he turned to me.

"Greetings, Mr. Dresden," he said, offering a shallow inclination of his head. "I am here to be your second."

"And who might you be?" I asked, my senses trying to tell me that this guy was dangerous.

The man's smile widened, his white teeth shining under the lights as the shadows seemed to shift behind him.

"Call me Nicodemus."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

I looked at the man who had just saved my life, and couldn't help but wonder what it was going to cost me.

If the others' reactions to him were of any indication, the guy was serious trouble. Even Ortega seemed to know of him, although thankfully Susan and Lacuna looked as puzzled as I felt. Still, four out of six people reacted as if Death himself had just walked into the room.

But you know what they say about beggars and choosers.

"I guess I have a second," I said, turning to the Archive.

"Harry," Mac said, his voice an urgent tone of warning.

"What, Mac?" I spat, turning on him in an instant. "What are you going to tell me? That this guy is bad news? That he's dangerous? That I shouldn't trust his _oh-so-timely_ arrival?" I threw my hands up. "I'm not an idiot."

"You don't know what he is," Mac said, his voice hard and his look harder.

"Mr. Dresden," Nicodemus said, slowly walking forward. His posture was relaxed and disarming, perhaps for my benefit, or perhaps for the others. "You have every right to heed the barkeep's warning."

"And yet I have little choice but to ignore it," I replied, my suspicious gaze returning to the man.

Nicodemus gave a slight inclination of his head, acknowledging the point. "All too true."

I looked back to the Archive. "So let's get this over with."

The little girl's face remained passive, but I noticed her eyes remained on Nicodemus. "Very well. You may consult with your second for a moment, to express your desires for the duel."

Ortega led Susan to a far corner, while Kincaid backed the Archive up, putting more distance between them and the new arrival. Mac stayed close to the bar, where I was fairly certain he kept a shotgun loaded and ready. Only Lacuna stayed close, foolish like her lord and master.

I turned to Nicodemus, who settled onto a stool, and took a sip from Susan's discarded beer. "Ah. A little too _healthy_ for my taste," the man said, pushing the bottle away with one finger as he fixed his gaze on Mac.

"So who are you?" I asked, not getting any closer to the big bad wolf.

"As I said, you may call me Nicodemus," the man repeated. His eyes slid to mine. "Although I believe you wish to know _what_ I am."

"Great. Another grammar Nazi," I grumbled. "Okay, _what_ are you?"

"I am a Knight of the Blackened Denarius."

I blinked at the man. "Of course you are."

Nicodemus gave me a disarming smile. "Shall we agree to be honest with one another?"

"Sure, Nick," I said, carefully sitting on a stool, but keeping one between us. "Tell me all about how I can trust you."

"Oh, you can't," the man said with wry smile. "You would be foolish to."

"Well, that's refreshing," I replied.

"As the others would surely warn you, I am a loathsome being," Nicodemus said, his eyes drifting to Mac again. "A mortal that has given himself over to a Fallen angel, who is bent on world domination, or something equally ridiculous."

"Alright," I said. "So lets say you're a bad guy. Why are you helping me?"

"I have my reasons," Nicodemus replied.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" I asked. "Because I've killed two of your comrades in the last twenty-four hours, and I'm not opposed to going for the hat trick."

Nicodemus just smiled. "Not quite, Mr. Dresden. While you did get the better of Ursiel and his host Rasmussen, I am pleased to say that Deirdre is still alive and well." His head tilted to one side. "Although she's not pleased with you at the moment."

"I imagine not," I replied, guessing he was referring to Lady Hydra. "What, she didn't enjoy living my reenactment of the Titanic experience?" I shrugged. "Everybody's a critic. I blame the movie for misconceptions."

"What makes you think she wasn't there for the first one?" Nicodemus asked in all seriousness.

I didn't even know where to begin with that, but Nicodemus let it go regardless. "She is unhappy with you, but she will get over it."

"She will, will she?" I asked. "And why is that?"

"Because you're going to get us what we want."

A cold feeling that had nothing to do with the Winter Knight mantle spread over me. "Fuck."

"Yes indeed," Nicodemus replied, enjoying the moment when I realized he had me over a barrel. "Well and truly."

Nicodemus was clearly working with the other Denarians. They wanted the Shroud, and had been willing to kill several times in order to get it. They'd even maneuvered me through a proxy to search for it, and I'd led them to it once already.

And now he had me by the short hairs. As my second, I was dependent on him until the duel was over. Seeing as that wouldn't be until the following night at the earliest, I'd be under his thumb until then.

He wanted the Shroud. And I was going to have to give it to him.

"Let's say I get the damned blanket," I said, growing frustrated with the entire situation. "What's to keep you from skipping out on the duel?"

"Obviously you will need to retain it to ensure my cooperation for the duration of this affair," Nicodemus said lightly. "After which, you will hand it over to me."

"If I recall correctly, I just need you for this meeting," I observed. "I can tap another second before the fight."

"True," Nicodemus said, his smile as dark as his shadow. "But we have been following you. We know those that you would turn to."

"Oh yeah?"

Nicodemus's smile faded. "Do you really think your pet lycanthrope would stand a chance against us?" he asked. "What do you think would remain of her pack when we were through?"

My blood ran cold as I pictured Deirdre cutting a swath through the Streetwolves. They were stronger and faster than humans, but only barely. They wouldn't stand a chance against one of the Denarians, much less a handful.

"Not to mention what would happen to your friend Michael and his family," Nicodemus continued coldly. "I understand they lost a child not that long ago. I wonder what they would feel upon losing another, because of you."

A flash of guilt made my anger worse. At his threats, the mantle inside me thrashed and raged. It wanted to freeze the man's blood in his veins and shatter him like glass. It wanted to call up an arctic wind to shred his flesh from his bones. It wanted to trap him within a glacier, leaving only his head free, so that he would be alive to feel the agony of frost bite as it rotted his limbs.

It took everything I had to hold it back.

"All of that would be avoidable, of course," Nicodemus said lightly. "Simply give me your word, and no one need die."

"Just like that?" I growled out.

"Well," the man said, his head tilting slightly. "I'm going to have to insist that you swear upon your power."

That sent more chills down my spine.

As a wizard, my power was directly tied to my word. If I broke my vow, and did it enough, I could lose the ability to use magic altogether. I'd nearly done just that several years back, when I'd broken a pact with my godmother.

And now, with my life on the line, this Nicodemus character was going to make me gamble with something just as valuable.

"No need to worry, Harry," Nicodemus said reassuringly. "So long as you hold up your end of the bargain, I will hold to mine. I will act as your second, and you will deliver the Shroud to me immediately after the duel has concluded."

My lips curled as I tried to see a way out of it. Buying more time, I looked over the Denarian. My eyes caught on his tie, which turned out not to be a tie at all. It was just a thin length of rope, fashionably tied in a noose around his neck.

"How immediate is immediate?" I asked.

Nicodemus arched an eyebrow. "What does it matter to you? What use do you have for that dirty old rag?"

My eyes drifted over to Susan, who was sending a worried glance my way. "I already promised a priest that I'd give it to him. Breaking one vow for another isn't going to do me any good."

Nicodemus just smiled a small smile. "I'm sure we can come to an arrangement."

"It is time," the Archive announced. "I would speak with the seconds."

Nicodemus turned back to me, his face losing any sense of humor. "Swear it on your power, now, or I walk away." One corner of his lips quirked up. "And be specific."

My jaw clenched, as every fiber of my being resented being manipulated and used. But I didn't have a choice in the matter.

"I, Harry Dresden, swear upon my power, that I will recover the Shroud of Turin stolen by the Churchmice, and I will deliver it to you, Nicodemus, upon the completion of the duel." I did my best to ignore the pending sense of doom that settled over me as I spoke. As if my words had invoked the Doom of Damocles over my head yet again, this time of my own volition.

Nicodemus's smile returned, clearly feeling no such qualms. "See? That wasn't so hard. Now what are your choices for weapon?"

"Magic," I replied somewhat grumpily. "Will, if the first is refused."

"I'm sure it will be," Nicodemus said. "Excuse me."

At that, the Denarian stood, and walked across the room to join Susan with the Archive and Kincaid. The bodyguard tensed as Nicodemus grew closer, but the Denarian didn't spare him a second glance.

"Harry," Mac said as he approached. Lacuna and I turned to look at him, finding him tense and worried. "Please don't do this."

"Are you going to step up, Mac?" I growled. When he didn't reply, I knew his answer. "Do you see anyone else stepping up for me, Mac?"

"There are others," he said softly. "You know that. They'd be here if you asked."

I turned away. Apparently he hadn't heard Nicodemus's threats. "There's no other choice."

"It's alright to ask for help," he said gruffly, quickly exceeding the entire word count of our relationship. "There are those that will always give it."

"You know what, Mac?" I said, turning back to him. "I think you need to wake up. There's no-one else. Those that I'd count on aren't any more trustworthy than Nick is."

"You don't mean that."

"Don't I?" I asked, my voice growing hot. "Murphy, you remember her? She threw me under the bus as soon as the going got rough. Michael _knew_ my life was in danger, and didn't tell me. The Alphas turned away from me while I was on the run, and never looked back."

I wasn't entirely sure Mac even knew who they all were, but that didn't matter. Those that I had counted as my friends had betrayed me in one way or another.

"So you're choosing to trust _him?_ " he said, looking to Nicodemus.

"No, Mac," I said as I stood. "I'm choosing to trust _no-one_."

* * *

It didn't take all that long for them to finish making the arrangements for the duel. Once it was done, the others were quick to leave.

Ortega and Susan were first out the door, if only because the Archive was delayed as she made sure to thank Mac for the use of his establishment. Then she and Kincaid were gone, with the latter watching Nicodemus until the door shut behind him.

I gave them a minute, and then headed out, Nicodemus at my side.

"It shall be a duel of wills," he informed me we walked into the parking lot. "Tomorrow just after sundown, at the United Center."

"Oh for fuck's sake," I mumbled. "Are we going to sell tickets? Maybe invite the press to cover it?"

"I would think not," he replied. He briefly met my eyes. "Tomorrow, then. Do what you wish with the Shroud until the duel is concluded, but make sure it is close at hand."

"Why?" I asked, my eyes narrowing. "Is time of the essence?"

"Isn't it always?" he replied, before walking toward the street. A black limo had pulled up as we spoke, and a man from the front jumped out to open the door for Nicodemus.

"How did you arrange this?" I called out, unable to help myself.

The Denarian turned back. "I'm sorry?"

"How did you do this?" I asked, gesturing back toward the pub. "Making sure I didn't have a second. Making sure I would be forced to help you."

Nicodemus studied me for a moment. "This was not of my doing, Mr. Dresden," he finally said. "I simply kept tabs on you. When the opportunity presented itself, I took advantage."

I looked at him doubtfully. "Really? You weren't pulling strings?"

The Denarian offered what almost looked like a sad smile. "No. You did that all on your own."

And with that, he climbed into the back, and then they were gone.

I turned to look at Lacuna, who was stoically awaiting my orders. "Is he right?"

The fairy looked to me, but I quickly turned away. "Never-mind." I headed toward the car, not wanting to hear her say it.

I already knew the answer.

* * *

A short time later saw us arriving at the Marriott hotel in downtown Chicago. After the debacle with using a cab, Sía had lent me the old AMC Gremlin to get around town in. I'd borrowed it a few times over the years, and each time I vowed it'd be the last. It was cramped and uncomfortable, but at least it got me where I needed to go.

Lacuna spent the ride apologizing profusely for her mistake. She'd been blind-sided by the Archive's interpretation of her servitude, and seemed ready to throw herself on her steel-bladed sword if I said the word.

Which I didn't. It was just as much my fault as hers. I should have seen the potential conflict, but instead had brushed off Mab's edict as simply restricting me from asking someone like Cat Sith to act as my second.

No, if you're wondering. He's not that kind of Sith. If anything, he's worse.

By the time we reached the Marriott, I'd finally convinced Lacuna that killing herself wouldn't do me any good. Instead I sent her off to complete her task, telling her to be ready for the next step in our plan. She disappeared in a flash, leaving me alone in the parking garage.

As I headed for the front door, I had to pass by the line of limos parked out front. It seemed that most had already delivered their rich and famous passengers, while a few stragglers were still arriving despite the event having already started over an hour prior.

I presented one of the tickets Sía's people had obtained for me, and then stepped into the building. I could feel Gard's wards as I passed through them, but there was nothing to do to avoid them. One of Lacuna's scouts had confirmed that Marcone's witch had warded every entrance, including the emergency exits on the roof. There was no getting in without passing through the wards.

The good news was that they seemed to be designed specifically to detect mortal practitioners, rather than restrict them. There was no way Gard could have set up a false threshold on such public ground. But it meant that someone somewhere knew the moment that I passed into the building.

That was fine. When you're as tall as I am, people tend to notice you anyway.

I cut my way through the crowd, noting several famous faces amongst the masses. There were politicians, celebrities, and even a few athletes from the local teams. The heights of the latter helped make me not stand out quite as much, but I was still a head taller than almost everyone else present. Not even the presence of my hat earned a second glance; a Stetson doesn't stand out all that much when there's a Texas oil baron wearing a ten gallon hat in attendance.

In almost no time at all, a blond with thick glasses wearing an emerald green dress picked me out of the crowd. I had to do a double-take, despite knowing of the disguise in advance. "Wow, you look good."

"Thanks," Sía replied, her gold-flecked green eyes sparkling at the honest compliment. They matched the dress perfectly, and despite the situation, the mantle within me started thinking of other things. I ignored it as I listened to her without making it obvious we were together. "I like the beard."

Figuring that the unkempt wizard look wouldn't help any of the situations I found myself in, I'd made an effort to tidy up my face. Sía had made offhand comments now and then about how she preferred men with beards, which is probably why I'd taken to letting it grow out.

Now that it looked neat and proper, it was beginning to grow on me.

 _Ba-dump_ ching.

"I thought you might," I said while looking around. A woman passing by thought I was talking to her, and gave me a wide-eyed look as she preceded past me. I winked, just for good measure.

"How did things go at the meeting?" Sía asked, mingling

"Worse than I could have imagined," I replied, keeping my eyes on the crowd rather than her. "I take it the deal hasn't gone down yet?"

"No," she replied. "Not unless Marcone let someone else handle it. The blond has been with him all night."

"I doubt he'd trust anyone else with this," I said, until a lance of doubt buried itself in my gut. "Unless I'm wrong, and he's not involved."

Sía shot me a look. "You said Lacuna's watcher followed the thieves to this hotel."

"They did," I replied. "And the blood tracking spell led me here as well. They're somewhere in the building." My eyes played over a group posing for a photo with a local basketball player. "But that doesn't guarantee Marcone is the one buying."

"Even if he was, he might not be anymore," Sía said softly, which drew my eyes around. When she saw my intense gaze, she added, "Moss got wind earlier, while you were heading for the meeting. The thieves freaked out about the thing at the harbor."

"So?"

"So they think their buyer tried to double-cross them," she replied. "In response, they let word get out that the Shroud is up for grabs." Green eyes met mine. "They've turned it into an auction."

"Son of a bitch," I said, shocked. "Maybe I can just buy the damn thing."

"You have that much money?" she replied, a dark eyebrow arching up.

"No," I replied. "And the Queens would likely skewer me if they found out I was using their resources on something like that. But it beats the alternative."

"Something tells me you wouldn't be that lucky," Sía replied, a smile curling her lips.

"Don't I know it," I replied. "Still, when is the auction taking place?"

Sía subtly checked her watch. "According to what Moss heard, less than half an hour from now." Before I could ask, she nodded toward a hallway. "There's a smaller ballroom where the buyers are supposed to gather."

"Then I guess— shit," I said, spotting a trio heading our way. Sía glanced out of the corner of her eye, and started to turn to leave, trying preserve her anonymity.

"No need to leave, Ms. MacTire," Gentleman John Marcone said as he came a stop before me, his own green eyes as flat as a snake's as he pinned me with his gaze.

"My people will see to you."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Back before I'd arrived in Chicago, the town had been like any other. As the third largest city in the country, it had a multitude of gangs and criminal organizations. Each controlled different neighborhoods and areas of town, most of them overlapping under different markets. Partnerships and loyalties came and went, as each vied to survive what was a very competitive market.

And then Gentleman John Marcone had stepped up. A previous enforcer and gunman, the would-be boss of Chicago went on a ruthless campaign to seize control of the city's underbelly. One that had been largely successful.

Marcone controlled the largest portion of the city's criminal element. Former gangs fell in line within his organization, or they ended up in a police line-up. Or worse, lined up in the morgue. Between the cops he'd bought and the politicians he'd bankrolled, Marcone made sure that there was nowhere his opponents could hide.

Unfortunately for him, he didn't have sole possession of the city. Margravine Bianca St. Claire still controlled a large portion of the city's prostitution, but had expanded her influence into the drug trade as well. The Streetwolves nipped at his heels in the protection rackets and black market, while working to expand their influence among the businesses and government institutions.

Marcone tolerated neither, and had all but put contracts out on Sía and her people. He was a brutal killer that would rather bury problems than deal with them.

For all that, he didn't look like a mob boss. His fit form and clean cut left you thinking he might be a high school football coach. It was his eyes, the color of dollar bills and free from any sign of remorse or regret, that revealed the monster that he was.

Which meant it wasn't good when those eyes settled on Sía and myself.

"Johnny, it's been too long," I said, offering the gangster a condescending smile.

"Mr. Dresden," the man replied, his low voice sounding courteous to bystanders, leaving his distaste for me apparent to only those that saw his eyes. "Neither you nor Ms. MacTire were on the guest list. Of that I am certain."

"And yet we have tickets," I said, withdrawing mine from an inner pocket.

The two people standing to either side of him tensed at the motion. The first was Hendricks, Marcone's personal bodyguard slash thug slash rock troll. He wasn't _actually_ a troll. But between his height and musculature, I could forgive someone thinking it of him. That they made suits in his size was impressive; they could have clothed a small village with all that fabric.

The second was Marcone's magical contractor. I'd seen Sigrun Gard once or twice, but never in a social setting where we had to play nice. She was pretty, which I couldn't say of Hendricks even if my tendencies went that way. But her beauty was like that of a battle-axe; curvy, sharp, and deadly.

The woman was dressed in an expensive white dress piped in gold. She wore matching jewelry, consisting of a gilded torc around her neck and matching bracelets around each wrist, the latter of which streamed off into a winding golden spiral that looped around each of her forearms. Combined with heeled sandals with ties that wrapped around her calves, the outfit gave her a decidedly Old World appearance.

When the two saw that I was withdrawing nothing more than a ticket, they relaxed, although they remained at the ready. Maybe they were always that tense, or maybe Gard's wards had detected the rods that were tucked beneath my dress coat.

Marcone's eyes glanced at the invitation, and then rose to meet mine again. We didn't need to worry about a soulgaze, as we'd gone through that the first time we'd met. It was that experience that left me convinced Marcone was a cold, heartless creature that had once been a man, but was now hollow of any true human emotion.

"I have no interest in forged tickets, Mr. Dresden," Marcone said, his voice cool. "And I would think you'd know that better than most." His eyes drifted to Sía. "Especially allowing the woman you're dating to use one."

My temper flared, a scarlet rage that coursed through my veins at his not-so-veiled reference to Susan's fate; to the fact that she'd used just such an invitation to force her way into Bianca's party, and gotten herself killed for her efforts.

That Marcone had learned the details of that exchange didn't surprise me. Not with his incessant need to know everything about anyone he considered a threat.

Which I very much was in that moment.

"You'll find they're real," Sía said beside me, her gaze on me rather than Marcone. Apparently something of my rage had shown on my face, as Gard had taken a step forward, and Sía had quietly taken me by one arm. "A corporate friend found that he wouldn't be able to attend, and offered us the opportunity."

"I'm afraid the invitations are non-transferable," Marcone replied, his gaze shifting to her. Whatever had been in my look that had set off the others, it'd had no effect on him. "And I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"And where would the fun be in that?" a familiar voice said from behind me. As loath as I was to turn my back on Gard, I did, to see Susan Rodriguez arrive, still stunning in that red dress.

I saw her eyes drift to where Sía held my arm. Something flashed in them, and Sía unconsciously removed her hand. I was too busy trying to figure out what Susan was doing there, until the now familiar form of Paolo Ortega stepped up to her side.

"Mr. Dresden," the man said smoothly. "I'm so glad to see you out and enjoying yourself on your last night on this earth."

"Ortega," I said, my smile brittle. "I think I saw an antique sarcophagus for sale in the auction." My grin spread. "It might be tight, but I think all your bits and pieces will fit. And then we'll go to that picnic on a hill."

Before the vampire could reply, Marcone reasserted his lack of authority over us. "As pleased as I am to meet someone else that wishes Mr. Dresden to be dearly departed, I'm afraid you were not invited either." His eyes shifted to Susan. "You'd think you'd have learned your lesson by now."

"Oh, we won't be staying long," Susan replied, her smile bright and vicious but somehow still hers. "We're just waiting for a particular item to go up for sale."

Her words made me blink, and then curse silently to myself.

It seemed word of the Shroud's sale had reached Bianca's court as well. And as one of her lieutenants, Susan had been dispatched to acquire it.

I had no idea what the Reds might want with it, but I knew letting them have it wouldn't be any better than Marcone or Nicodemus. Not to mention that my odds of getting away with it had just gone down.

Susan's comment did not go unnoticed by Marcone, either. "I think you will find some items out of your price range," he replied. "By my estimate, the cost will be far more than you'll be willing to pay."

"Oh, Johnny," Susan replied with her still warm smile. "When will you realize that we never _pay_ for anything. We make others do that for us."

Whatever pleasant feeling I'd had at seeing Susan acting like herself faded quickly as I heard her lump herself in with the Reds. "Susan, I think you should stay out of this."

At my words, she turned to me in surprise. "Excuse me?"

I knew that tone of voice all too well. It was Susan's I-know-you're-not-telling-me-what-to-do voice. "I'm serious, Susan. This is bigger than you realize."

Susan's eyes flashed again, a familiar anger bubbling up. Back when she'd been a reporter for the _Midwestern Arcane_ , she'd taken a perverse pleasure in investigating things that were outside of the mundane. She'd flown in the face of convention countless times, doing what needed to be done not only to get the story, but to establish herself as a serious journalist.

It seemed she'd adapted that same go-to attitude to everything in her after-life as well. "You think I don't understand what's going on?"

Before I could reply, Ortega spoke up. "We are fully aware of the situation, Mr. Dresden. Particularly in concern to the individual you met with earlier."

As his smile spread, I cursed myself for a fool yet again. Marcone and the others looked confused, but they hadn't been there for the meeting. They hadn't been there when Nicodemus had demanded I get the Shroud.

But Ortega had. And as a Red Court vampire, he had most likely heard our exchange from across the room.

Which explained why the Red Court had just taken an interest in the Shroud. If they got their hands on it, it'd make me worthless to Nicodemus. The Reds might even hand it over to him, at the low low cost of walking away from being my second.

Which would mean I wouldn't live long enough to fight the bastard grinning at me now.

"I've got some good news, Pauly," I said, my breath frosting in the air as I did. The others didn't fail to notice. "I wasn't exactly looking forward to tomorrow. But now I'm thinking I'm going to enjoy the hell out of it."

"Harry—" Sía began, her hand taking hold of my arm again.

"It's fine," I told her, stepping back from Ortega. "I'll wait until the duel. Maybe we'll sell tickets after all."

The look on my face must have been something, because the ancient monster actually took a step back. His retreat was encouraged by Susan, who took his arm just as Sía had taken mine. The two faded back into the crowd just as quickly as they'd come, leaving us alone with Marcone and his people.

Before the mobster could say anything, I turned back to him. "Marcone, I think you're a corrupt, vile, loathsome piece of filth," I said, my voice still as cold as the air around me. "But at least you're human, if only barely. So I'll give you fair warning." My head dipped so that I could glare down into the man's dead eyes. "Stay out of this."

Marcone wasn't one to retreat, and likely never would. And based on the look he gave me, I knew he wouldn't be giving up on the Shroud. But at least he had the good sense to shut the fuck up.

I let Sía pull me away, and then the gangster was gone, as we were once again milling about amongst the rich and the fabulous.

"I thought you were going to kill him," Sía whispered, her breath quick.

"Which one?" I asked, my voice still a husky growl.

"Both of them," she replied, her eyes wide. "All of them."

Even with the conflict past us, my pulse was still quick, the mantle still forefront in my thoughts. So I didn't fail to notice the way Sía's chest was moving in her dress, or the way she'd pressed her hip against mine.

As a lycanthrope, she was as hot-blooded as they came. And she was no stranger to violence; you didn't become a leader of a gang if you blanched at the sight of blood.

No, Sía wasn't embarrassed or disgusted by my behavior.

She was _excited_ by it.

And part of me was very excited about that.

"Not now, boy," she said, squeezing my bicep. "Save it for later."

I gave off a barbaric grunt, and let her draw me further into the crowd. "How much longer until the auction?"

Sía checked her watch. "Only a couple minutes. I figure we'll let you cool off for another five before heading over."

"Probably a good idea." As I looked about the room, a thought occurred to me. "You know, I just realized. The thieves probably aren't going to be that excited to see me."

Sía looked confused for a moment, until she realized what I was talking about. "You mean after the harbor."

"Yeah."

"Do you not want to go?" she asked.

"No, I have to go," I replied quickly. "I'm just thinking maybe you shouldn't."

"What?" she asked, alarmed. "Why not?"

"Things are dangerous enough as it is," I told her. "We're going to have two other parties in there trying to get this thing. That's bad enough, but the sellers might want to take me out themselves before they even start. Especially if they find out I don't have the cash to actually back up my bids."

"You want to keep me out of it, to keep me safe," she realized. Her eyes slid elsewhere, before coming back to me. "You know, you never told me about Susan."

"What?" I said, thrown by the change of topic. "Sure I did."

"You told me what happened," Sía said with a shake of her head. "But I didn't realize just how much you blamed yourself until I saw you look at her."

"What?" I repeated.

Sia stopped us, turning me to look at her. "Harry, she was your girlfriend. And through that relationship, she got hurt. And you blame yourself."

My throat was thick, and I wasn't sure I could respond, even if I knew what to say. My emotions were still raw from seeing Susan, and the situation I found myself in wasn't helping. And now Sía was hitting me with this.

"And you know what? You should," Sía continued. "But you've got to get over it."

"Get over it?" I asked, my voice low but hard. "How do I just get over it? I got her killed, Sía."

The lycanthrope placed both hands on my face, pulling it down. "By accepting that you didn't control her, any more than you control me." She kissed my lips softly. "Neither of us are your responsibility, Harry. We're your friends." Her smile took on a crooked lean. "Friends with benefits, maybe. But you can't control what we do."

I took a moment, taking a steadying breath. "You're coming, then."

"Yes," she replied. "And whatever happens, it happens because I choose to be there. Just like she did." The lycanthrope bumped me with her hip, a surprising force behind it. "Now get your head in the game, wizard. The last thing I need to be doing is babysitting you in there."

That brought a smile to my lips. "Fair enough."

Sía glanced toward the hallway and checked her watch. "It's time."

"Alright," I said, steeling myself for whatever was about to happen. "Let's go."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Sía and I made our way to one of the smaller ballrooms of the hotel. It had less than a quarter of the space of the grand ballroom, but looked bigger due to its limited occupancy.

The hallway outside was packed with people that didn't look like party-goers or hotel staff. I recognized some standing along one side as members of Marcone's organization. Bulges beneath their jackets all but confirmed that they were there as security. Their gaze drifted over us as we passed, but their attention was fixed on those standing against the other wall.

They were more of the same, as far as I could tell. Their sizes and skin colors ran the spectrum, but they all wore the same uniform: a simple black suit with a white shirt and thin red tie. It didn't take much to guess that they were Red Court vampires, or maybe thralls in their service.

The two groups let us past, clearly instructed not to interfere with the auction. We walked down the hall, past one room closed for maintenance, before reaching the designated ballroom.

When we entered, we found the two other groups already there and waiting. Marcone silently watched us enter, with Gard and Hendricks at either side. Gard had apparently stopped somewhere to pick up a moon-shaped axe, an accessory she hadn't had out on the dance floor. Hendricks was openly carrying an assault rifle, something I doubt management would have approved of. I caught a glimpse of a sawed off shotgun hanging on one side.

Ortega and Susan were there as well, along with two more of the suited men with red ties. While the guards had the tell-tale bulges of guns under their jackets, the other two were unarmed.

Other than the two factions, there was no-one else present in the room. I noted the windows, which seemed to be facing out toward the side alley running alongside the hotel. The room was barren, save for a table that had been placed along one wall. A laptop sat atop it, alongside what looked like a squat piece of electronics.

As we approached, a disembodied voice spoke up. I stopped as I realized the device was a speaker-phone of some sort.

"Step forward," the voice said.

"What is this, the Wizard of Oz?" Sía asked softly.

"I'm supposed to be the wizard," I muttered, but obeyed the unseen voice.

When I got close enough, the voice spoke again. "No. Not him."

"Not who?" I asked, looking around. Sía pointed to the laptop and whispered "Camera."

"Not you," the odd voice replied, an electronic warble that made me think someone was using a voice changer. "We're not selling to you."

"Why not?" I asked, although I could guess.

"Because you tried stealing the Shroud earlier," the voice replied.

"That wasn't me. That was my evil twin," I argued petulantly. I pointed at Marcone. "And he works for him, the lousy traitor."

"I have already assured them that I was not involved in the incident earlier," Marcone said calmly. As even as his voice might have been, his eyes were dark and furious.

"You're just a no good lyin' liar," I replied. "Who's going to believe you?"

"We are," the disembodied voice replied. "Get out."

"Alright, I apologize for earlier," I told the computer, making sure to keep my distance from it. The last thing I wanted to do was to have it short out because of my power, and complicate things further. "But I was just trying to get the Shroud away before that thing arrived."

There was a pause. "What was that?"

"A demon," I replied. "One that would have killed the two of you and taken the Shroud, rather than just givin' you a good thumpin'."

"A demon?" the voice asked, the odd tones still somehow relaying their doubt.

"You saw it, didn't you?" I said. "I saw the two of you slip away while I distracted her. You're welcome, by the way."

There was another pause, and then the voice returned. I got the impression that the speaker had changed. "You have money to pay, or are you just going to offer us more thumps on the head?"

"I've got money."

"He doesn't have enough," Marcone said.

"Shows what you know," I replied. "I _am_ the Winter Knight."

That didn't get me as far with the thieves as I hoped it would. "The what?"

Remembering that they weren't clued in, I shrugged. "It means I have the resources."

"He does," Ortega said, surprising me with his vote of confidence. "But he is also allied with the creature that attacked you earlier."

I blinked at that. "Am not."

The blood-sucking vampire just smiled a crooked smile. "Did you not come to terms with them earlier this evening, to acquire it on their behalf?"

"If I were working for them, why would I have fought one?" I countered. "Not to mention the one I killed last night."

That seemed to surprise Ortega, which was refreshing. I looked back to the camera. "The truth is, bad things want the Shroud. And of those you could sell it to, I'm the best."

"How convincing," another voice said.

As a whole, the room turned to watch a couple walk in, arm in arm. The first I recognized, seeing as he had just agreed to be my second only an hour or so earlier.

Nicodemus was wearing the same suit and odd tie, but now had two new accessories. The first was a sword on one hip, a slim blade that he carried with ease. I got the distinct impression he knew how to use it.

The second accessory was wearing an oriental dress that showed off all the right things. The girl's face was too slim to be conventionally pretty, and her dark hair hung wildly about her head.

"Who's that?" the voice from the speaker asked.

"Another potential buyer," Nicodemus replied, his eyes on Gard of all people. "One with more resources than the rest of these fools combined."

"He's also associated with the thing you saw," Ortega said with a frown, clearly upset at the Denarian's arrival.

"That line is getting tired," I replied.

"So it is," the voice said. "Very well. We'll open the auction to all comers. For those that haven't already, please step forward and enter your account numbers into the laptop."

The girl left Nicodemus's arm and started forward. She glanced my way as she did, casting a baleful look. I realized with a start that this must be Deirdre, who Nicodemus had said wasn't all that pleased with me.

The girl bent at the computer, and I looked away, simply because I didn't want to be the only lecher in the room. "We have a problem," I whispered to Sía.

"Let me guess," she replied drolly. "You don't know your bank account number."

"That's not something normal people know," I argued.

The gold-flecked green eyes just rolled. "Whatever. I'll use mine."

When Deirdre was finished, Sía stepped up. I didn't bother looking away as she bent over. I mean, she was my date after all. I was just watching her back. Literally.

While she worked, Nicodemus strolled over to me. "Glad you could make it."

I shot him a scowl. "What are you doing here?"

Nicodemus's eyebrow arched up. "Simply improving my odds of acquiring that which I desire."

I glanced toward Ortega, who was watching us. "Seems like you've got more cards to play than anyone else."

That made Nicodemus smile. "You have no idea."

As he was speaking, the girl arrived at his side. When she slipped her arm around Nicodemus's waist, he did the same, pulling her close. "Allow me to introduce my daughter, Deirdre."

My eyes might have widened at that. Particularly because of where Nicodemus's hand came to a rest. "Your daughter?"

Nicodemus just nodded and smiled. "Say hello to Harry, Deirdre."

"Hello Harry," the girl replied flatly.

"I love what you've done with your hair," I told her. "Listen, a friend of mine wanted to ask. When you're in your other form, are your boobs… you know. Soft?"

The humor left Nicodemus's face, while Deirdre's eyes simply narrowed with hate. "How humorous."

"No, I'm really curious," I replied, trying for my most innocent. "If I were trying to be humorous, I'd ask if you shave your legs with your own hair." My eyes widened. "Oh, wait, do you have to shave down there?" I asked, pointing discreetly. "Because I bet there aren't many guys that would want their junk lopped off by your pubes."

I didn't think Deirdre's gaze could have grow any narrower. And I was right, except for the fact that she had one other card to play.

A second pair of glowing green eyes appeared on her forehead, as narrow as the first set, which began to glow a crimson red.

"Now, now, dear," Nicodemus cautioned, although he looked like he'd rather let her loose. "We mustn't do anything to Mr. Dresden until after he's acquired the Shroud for us."

His words calmed Deirdre, who slowly let the lights fade away along with the second set of eyes. But they didn't fade before Sía returned, who's own gaze widened when she saw the girl.

"I take it she's the one you mentioned? The offspring of Colossus and Medusa?" Sía asked, her eyes on Deirdre. Apparently she hadn't heard that her father was standing right beside her.

The girl just looked to Sía with disinterest. "I take it this is his pet dog you told me about? The one we might have to put down?" Deirdre replied, her languid voice just as irritating as her words.

"I thought you said she was tough?" Sía said, looking to me after sizing up the tiny girl. "I bet if you gave me thirty minutes and a bottle of Nair, she'd be as harmless as a hairless rodent."

"Thirty minutes and I'd have you on your back screaming," Deirdre said with a snarl. "And not in a pleasant way."

"Ladies, ladies," Nicodemus said with the patience of a man that had dealt with women across numerous lifetimes. "Can't we all be civil until this matter is resolved?"

"Why do we need him?" Deirdre replied, clearly irritated that she couldn't just strangle the both of us.

"Because I have no intention of buying the Shroud," Nicodemus said with a smile. "Mr. Dresden is going to steal it, and then deliver it to us tomorrow."

Sía blinked at that, and I remembered that I hadn't had a chance to tell her about the details of the meeting.

"Alright," the voice from the speaker-phone said. "I guess that's everyone. Each of your accounts passed authentication for the million dollar minimum, so we'll begin bidding in just a few minutes."

It was my turn to look to Sía, my eyes wide. "You have an account with a million dollars in it?"

"Doesn't everyone?" she replied smartly.

Before I could respond, the doors opened again, drawing everyone's gaze.

Three more figures stepped into the room, moving to stand one beside the other as they came. I think my mouth gaped open in surprise at the sight of the three, and the armament they bore.

"Harry," Michael Carpenter said softly, his eyes shifting unsurely between Nicodemus and myself. I looked him up and down, seeing that he was wearing his solid plate-mail beneath his white cloak, the front of which bore a red cross. Amoracchius hung in its sheath on his hip, while I spotted several other knives stashed across his armored body.

Sanya was decked out in armor as well, although his was more contemporary, consisting of a bulletproof vest and dark fatigues. Esperacchius hung at one side, while a short barreled automatic hung on the other.

Of the three, only Shiro could pass himself off as a civilian. His garb was authentic Miyagi, with loose hakama pants and a shitagi shirt tied shut around his waist. He walked with his cane, although he put no weight on it.

"Michael, what are you doing here?" I asked, shooting a glance at the Denarian.

If I thought I was surprised by the appearance of the three Knights of the Cross, Nicodemus was down-right disturbed. The man's eyes had narrowed as he took a step back, squaring his shoulders to them. Deirdre did so as well, her hands clenching as if preparing for a fight.

But between all of us, our reactions were _nothing_ compared to that of Nicodemus's shadow.

Which began to writhe on the floor of its own accord.

"What the hell?" I breathed, watching the shadow act completely unnaturally. For a second I wondered if he was Peter Pan, and his shadow was about to tear loose from his feet.

"Nicodemus," Shiro said softly, his body resting very lightly on the cane that I suspected bore one of the Swords of the Cross.

"If it isn't the Jap," Nicodemus snarled, his veneer of civility peeled away at the appearance of the Knights. His eyes shifted toward Sanya. "And the traitor."

"I was the betrayed, not the betrayer," Sanya replied stoically. "It is _your_ side that has a history of betraying those that loved them."

Nicodemus's face twisted again, even as his shadow thrummed with agitation. "I didn't realize you'd become a believer."

"I do not have to believe to know right from wrong," Sanya said, his disapproving gaze shifting to me. "Even the faithless can recognize the devil in their presence."

While I felt like I missed a lot in that exchange, I couldn't help but note the look he cast my way. I don't know if it was because I was standing with Nicodemus, or if it was because I was the Winter Knight. All I knew was this Knight of the Cross was looking at me as if I were the enemy, rather than someone that was just doing the best he could in a desperate situation.

As for his part, Nicodemus just nodded, and slowly began backing away from the three Knights, all of whom had their hands on their weapons. "Devil I may be, but you have no cause against me," Nicodemus said softly. "This is simply a transaction, one in which you have no part. Unless you've started charging those you help a consultant's fee?" he added, one eyebrow raised.

None of the Knights responded. They just watched Nicodemus back away, before turning to me.

"Harry," Michael began, his tone troubled.

"Don't start, Michael," I said with a frown. "What are you doing here?"

"A question we would all like answered," Marcone said as he approached from behind.

"We are here to retrieve that which rightfully belongs to the Church," Michael declared for all to hear, meeting the gangster's flat stare with one of infinite patience.

"Ownership is nine-tenths of the law," the voice from the speaker-phone announced. "So unless you happen to own a bank account with a lot of money in it, we're going to have to ask you to leave."

"We will not be leaving," Sanya announced to the room. "Not without the Shroud."

"Don't do this," I hissed at Michael. "I've got things under control."

"Is that what you think?" he replied, his voice filled with disappointment. "Do you know who he is?"

I assumed he was talking about Nicodemus. "Yeah. He's the Big Bad. The personification of evil. The greatest threat to mankind, yadda yadda."

Michael didn't seem to like my flippant tone. "You jest, but he is." My friend shook his head. "And I find you standing with him."

"I'm not— Damn it, Michael," I growled, as low as I could manage. "I'm not standing _with_ him. I'm just doing what needs to be done."

"To survive."

"Yes, to survive," I snapped.

"At what cost, Harry?" Michael replied. "Living is about more than just breathing; it's about being able to live with yourself, and the things you've done."

My response, which likely would have cost me a friendship, was cut short by the arrival of Susan Rodriguez. Michael and I both turned to her, and I couldn't help but recall the last time we'd been together.

That damned night at Bianca's. The night that had changed everything.

"Mr. Carpenter," Susan said politely, nodding to the man.

"Ms. Rodriguez," Michael replied, his voice neutral. I would have expected something a little more apologetic from him, given his role in her fate. But my friend just stared mutely at her as if she were any other monster.

Which, I guess to him, she was.

"I understand that you want to retrieve the object," Susan said to him, her tone understanding and sympathetic. "But the sellers have stashed it and themselves away. If you do not leave, no-one will get it, including you."

"So be it," Michael replied coolly. "Better it be lost than in the hands of those that would misuse it."

"You think so ill of me?" she asked, sounding offended. "After everything we've been through?"

"We have been through nothing," Michael stated, his tone absolute. "My friendship was with the woman that used to inhabit that body. You are nothing but a poor reflection of the soul that was lost."

That seemed to hit Susan hard, as I saw her literally rock back as if she'd been slapped.

"Michael," I hissed.

"No, Harry," he replied, not taking his eyes off of Susan. "Do not let its voice and appearance confuse you. She is not Susan Rodriguez."

"How can you—"

"Uh, Harry," Sía said from behind me. I felt a tug on my suit coat.

I turned to her, and then looked to where her gaze was fixed. The others were all paying attention to the speaker-phone.

"—is off," the voice said.

"We had a deal," Marcone said. The way he said it made it sound like it was to be written on the thieves' tombstones.

"And now we're breaking it," the voice replied. "This is getting too hot."

To my surprise, Nicodemus just shrugged. "Oh well. I'm fine with that."

That seemed to startle the Knights more than anything. But it was Ortega that stepped up to the computer. "I would recommend you reconsider."

"Too bad," the voice replied. "If you still want to purchase the Shroud, we'll hold an auction at a later date. And until then, we'll hold each of your million dollars as a down payment to bid at that time."

"Excuse me?" Sía said, her accent thickening. She clearly wasn't prepared to part with a cool mil in exchange for a fun fifteen minutes in a room full of monsters.

"If you want the money back, you can have it," the voice replied. "After we're safely out of the city, we will… Gaston? Where have you—"

The change in subject caught everyone's attention, as did the sudden drop in communication.

"What was that?" Ortega asked, frowning. He cast a suspicious look my way.

"LaRouche," I heard Gard whisper to Marcone. Something about her face was odd, as if she were alarmed at the turn of events for some reason.

"What's going on?" Sía asked me softly as I turned and took a few steps away from everyone."

"Nothing good," I replied as I pulled a string from my pocket. Attached was a clear crystal that had been dipped in something red. I dangled the crystal from the string, and watched as it failed to hang straight down. "It sounded like the Churchmice were talking to Gaston LaRouche, one of their partners."

"So?"

"So Gaston LaRouche is dead," I replied, my eyes raising to look in the direction where the crystal pointed. It was subtle, but it was pointing in the opposite direction from the laptop. As I looked, I realized that it was in fact pointing at the next room over, which was separated from ours by one of those large accordion-style divider walls. The kind that can be removed to make one large room when required. "Son of a bitch."

"What?" Sía asked, only to hurry after me as I made my way for the divider wall. "Where are you going? What are you talking about?"

Our departure didn't go unnoticed. Several heads swiveled around as I let loose a trickle of power, just enough to break the latch holding the two accordion doors together. A gap sagged in between them for a moment, until a wind spell blew them apart, sliding both sides back toward the recesses where they were normally hidden from view.

With the doors open, the room beyond was revealed. As were the three people standing there.

The first two were who I was expecting. Anna Valmont and Francisca Garcia looked none the worse for wear from our brief encounter earlier that day, save for some bruising on a forehead and a temple. Both were decked out in dark fatigues they'd picked up somewhere along the way in their travels around town. A duffel bag sat on the floor, which is what Garcia went for as the doors flew open. Valmont just glanced our way, before holding up something in her hand.

"Don't come any closer!" she shouted as the others all moved up to my position. Everyone's attention seemed to be focused on a round white tube sitting on a table next to the ladies. "This is a remote trigger. I've rigged the cannister to blow, so if anyone tries anything, the Shroud goes up in smoke!"

Despite her threat, I started forward, my eyes on the man standing with them. As I moved, Valmont waived the remote in my direction, repeating her threat. "Stop! I mean it!"

"We must go," the man that looked like Gaston LaRouche said urgently to the women. "Things are much worse than we ever could have guessed."

"Okay, we're leaving!" Garcia announced, rising from the bag and holding an automatic rifle. What do they do, hand those out on street corners now? "Sale is off!"

"That's not LaRouche," I said, my eyes on the impostor.

"What are you talking about?" Valmont asked, stepping forward to pick up the cannister with her free hand.

"That's not LaRouche," I repeated. "LaRouche died several days ago."

"Nonsense," the man replied, sounding offended by my accusation as he shot a baffled look at me. "I am quite obviously alive."

To all appearances, he was. His face was the same as the one I'd seen in the photograph. But since there was no way for him to have survived the injuries I'd seen, I knew he wasn't who he claimed. Not if Vincent was correct.

The two women seemed to be taking their friend's word for it rather than mine. Both were sidling toward the door, keeping everyone else at bay with the threat to the Shroud.

"LaRouche was left for dead on a tarmac. That man is an impostor," I insisted, even if a sliver of doubt had crept in. Could the good father have been wrong? Shape-shifters were real, but those with the ability to look like others were very limited in number.

"Keep talking and I'll put one through your throat," Garcia said, taking aim at me as she did so.

"I hate to say it, but Mr. Dresden is correct," Marcone said off to one side. "My people heard of his death as well."

Garcia hesitated, shifting her aim to Marcone. He didn't flinch with the gun pointed at him, but I noticed Hendricks move up a step, so that he might throw himself in front of his boss if things went sideways.

"It's the truth," I told them. "It's like that thing you saw earlier today. The demon. Some things can make themselves look like others."

Now it was Valmont's turn to hesitate. Casting a look at her would-be partner, she asked, "Where have you been?"

"The authorities were on my tail," the man replied, his French accent thickening. "I had no choice but to go the long way around in getting here."

"How'd you know where we were meeting?" Valmont asked, her eyes shifting back and forth between him and us. "We never told you where the exchange was going down."

The man hesitated. "You put word out today. Those I know in town told me."

Valmont seemed to freeze at that, while Garcia hissed and spun toward the man. "Gaston said he didn't know anyone in Chicago."

Oops.

The man that wasn't Gaston LaRouche blinked once. And then he was moving, way too quickly to be even remotely human. Valmont started to turn, but the man was there in a flash, his eyes narrowing even as a second set bloomed on his forehead.

His flesh seemed to ripple before my eyes, and I watched as the skin on his neck and face began to change. Even the hand that he'd wrapped around Valmont's throat changed, becoming a mottled greenish color. From a distance, it looked like his flesh was almost scaly in texture.

"Give me the Shroud," the Denarian hissed. And I don't mean that he spoke raspingly; his voice was that of a snake that had learned how to speak English. As his lips moved, I saw the flash of a forked tongue that flickered in and out of his mouth.

"I'll blow it," Valmont stuttered, her voice pitched high but still braver than anything I would have managed. "I'll blow it to fucking—"

Snake Boy's other arm shot around her, his clawed hand closing on her wrist. I could hear it as her bones broke, shattering beneath his grip. As they did, the remote began to fall toward the floor.

Garcia screamed as she took aim at the Denarian, who casually tore her friend's throat out. Blood spurted across the room as Anna Valmont died, and Snake Boy grabbed at the white tube.

The tension in the room broke, as everyone realized the sale had just become a free-for-all.

And then the chaos began, as we all started trying to kill one another.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Before Valmont's body hit the ground, Garcia opened fire on Snake Boy.

The quick staccato of shots accompanied an explosion of flesh that erupted across his body. At first I thought it was because of the bullets, but realized a heartbeat later that it wasn't due to any wounds. Snake Boy had simply shed the flesh mask he'd worn that looked like Gaston LaRouche, revealing his true form.

His upper body was still humanoid, save for his head. That was entirely serpentine, as was his body from the waist down. His chest and arms were covered in green scales just like the rest, scales that were apparently hard enough to resist the powerful fire from the assault rifle.

Despite his apparent invulnerability, the impacts still seemed to hurt, as Snake Boy started to retreat once he had the tube in hand. Garcia saw that her shots had no effect, and instead dove for her friend, and the remote she'd dropped.

I realized what she intended just before she got there. If bullets wouldn't kill the thing, then perhaps an explosion would. But that same explosion would destroy the Shroud.

" _Hexus!_ " I shouted, unleashing my will in the general direction of the remote. My magic flowed out, shorting out the electronics in the trigger just a second before Garcia pushed the button, trying to ignite the explosive charge in the tube.

I suppose I was lucky that my spell didn't set it off either. I know it'd been in the effect area of the hex, because all of the lights in the room sparked and flared before going out.

And then I was in a dark place, surrounded by monsters, all fighting for the same thing.

I saw blurs in the shadows around me as something moved at speed. The darkness lasted only a long moment, before the room was illuminated by the shining blades of the Swords of the Cross.

The light revealed that Susan and Ortega had gone for Snake Boy. I saw Susan fall away as a massive python appeared out of nowhere, likely summoned up by the Denarian. That was a handy bit of information, as the others I'd seen hadn't shown any talent for magic other than their shape-shifting forms.

The python writhed as it tried to wrap around Susan to crush her. While she dealt wit that, Ortega went for the prize, laying a hand on the tube before Snake Boy slashed his hand through the air at him.

I lost sight of them as everyone charged past me. I was surprised to see Shiro moving at speed, his sword unsheathed from his cane as he went after Snake Boy. But then Nicodemus was there, his shadow blending with the darkness in the room as he tried to catch up with the old man.

The Denarian's blade was out in a flash and spinning toward the short Knight of the Cross, who stopped his charge to block an impossibly fast strike. The two swords clanged together in quick succession, sparks flying as the Knight's bright weapon shone as he swung it back and forth.

As I was pulling the two rods from the small of my back, I turned at the sound of more gunfire. Shots ricocheted off the wall of metal hair that formed in front of Deirdre as she transformed. Sanya held his gun in one hand, unleashing the barrage that did nothing but annoy the metal skinned girl.

When her transformation was complete, she forwent the shield wall of metal hair and simply threw herself at the Knight, who brought his Sword around to meet her.

I caught sight of Michael as he went past, closing on the third Denarian. Ortega was dealing with a mass of snakes that Snake Boy had sent after him, leaving the demon free to try and make his escape. Michael managed to get himself between it and the door, the demon's long tail lashing angrily as he hissed at the Knight.

With all of that going on in the first few seconds, part of me wondered who I was supposed to be fighting. But then the far door opened as the small army of Red Court vampires flowed into the room, joining the two that were leaping at myself and Marcone.

" _Fuego!_ " I shouted, lifting the rod in my right hand up at the fully transformed vampire that was flying at me with its thin membranous wings extended. It was solid black, its limbs laced with thin muscle that ended with dark claws. I knew from experience that the bulge in its belly was its blood bladder, a location particularly vulnerable to bladed weapons.

Not that I needed one, as a thick shaft of blue-white flame shot out from the blasting rod, the magical invocation striking the vampire hard enough to send it flying back toward the others just coming into the room.

The vampire was incinerated in an instant, its burning body offering a little more illumination. It helped me see the guns that the new arrivals were lifting in our direction.

"Down!" I shouted to Sía, even as I lifted my left arm up before me. I subconsciously activated my shield spell, and watched in satisfaction as the translucent wall of energy formed in front of us, the bullets ricocheting off in sparks of blue.

Another eruption of gunfire opened to my right, and I flinched in surprise. But Hendricks hadn't been aiming at us; instead his rounds shot through those charging the room, cutting some down while still others gave way to their full monstrous forms.

With a wall of blubbery beasts charging us, some scrambling across the floor while others clung to the ceiling, I lifted my other rod, waiving it across my front. " _Arctis ventas!_ "

The frost rod wasn't as efficient with wind spells as my staff was, but it was great with using the power of the mantle. The spell I unleashed was a combination of wind and cold, something entirely appropriate for the weapon, and a gale of arctic wind blew at the vampires. The temperature grew so cold that any particles in the air froze, becoming flecks of ice that flew at the monsters, blinding them even as the force of the wind knocked them off their feet.

It wasn't enough to kill any of them, but it did halt their advance. That allowed Hendricks to take accurate shots at them, even as the surviving members of Marcone's forces ran into the room. There weren't many, so I assumed the Reds had taken out most of them before entering.

I watched as Hendricks took aim at one vampire, putting a single round into its head. I'd seen shots just like that get shrugged off as if they were nothing, but the vamp went down with a howling pain, and then another fell in the same manner.

I glanced to my side, and saw Marcone looking my way. "Holy dipped rounds," he said simply.

"Know thy enemy, I guess," I muttered, refusing to be impressed with the man's resources and resourcefulness. Apparently someone had predicted that the Reds might show up for the auction. Or maybe he was just that cautious, now that the vampires were increasing their territory.

Leaving the vampires to Marcone's men, I turned back toward the others, all of whom were in a desperate fight for their lives. Michael had split off from Snake Boy at some point, going to help Sanya against Deirdre. Susan had escaped the python Snake Boy had thrown, and had managed to dart in while he was occupied with Michael. She'd retrieved the case, and Ortega was just arriving to take it from her when my blast of icy air knocked him into a wall.

Susan spun, her eyes wide as she saw my staff pointed at her. But then it dropped as I lifted the other, unleashing another column of blue-white fire at the leaping form of Snake Boy. " _Fuego!_ "

The strike hit him in the chest, and sent him hurtling back into the same wall that Ortega was just pulling himself out of. I took aim at the Duke with my blasting rod, but Susan stepped in between us. "Damn it—" I started.

The rest was cut off as Garcia rose from where she'd been crouching behind the overturned table. I couldn't she what she had in hand, but recognized the sound of a shotgun as she fired upon Susan and Ortega. Pellets struck both, shredding their flesh and sending them to the ground.

Sía slid across the floor, reaching for Garcia's bag as she went. I saw her hands dip in, and she came out with a pair of hand guns. The theif started turning on her, but stopped when she saw Sía open fire on the resurgent Snake Boy.

My date's shots didn't fare any better than the others had. The Denarian didn't hesitate as he thrust a palm toward the two women on the ground. I watched as the air swirled, the latent magical energy within the room coalescing into a writhing bundle of snakes that hurdled at Sía and Garcia.

With her quick reflexes and enhanced strength, Sía grabbed the collapsible table and spun it around just in time to block the oncoming mass of serpents. They smacked into the side before dropping to the floor, where they began trying to work their way around the barrier.

I dipped the frost rod toward them, unleashing another spell. " _Arctis ventas!_ " With the cold spell concentrated in a tighter area, the affect was significantly greater. The funnel of frigid air slammed into the snakes, freezing them to their core even as they were carried toward the far wall. When they struck, their bodies shattered into pieces.

As soon as that spell was away, I fired another fiery blast at Snake Boy. His speed was surprising, but not so fast that he avoided the blow entirely. Blue-white flame tore across his shoulder, leaving his flesh blackened and burned.

I darted toward him, my skin growing a thin layer of frost as the mantle sought to protect me. Part of me wished I'd brushed propriety aside and worn my duster, but there was nothing to be done about that now. At least I was looking dapper in my suit and hat.

When Snake Boy saw me coming, his hands rose again, preparing another spell. " _Arctis flagrus!_ " I shouted, my left wrist rotating toward the Denarian. Power flowed down my left arm, pouring from the end of the frost rod and flicking toward my target. Frigid water froze into round links, forming a chain of ice that coiled around his wrists.

It didn't stop his spell. The air shimmered again as he formed more snakes, sending them at me as I charged. But I did manage to wrench him toward me, closing the distance between us while adding his momentum to my own.

His writhing mass of snakes hit me in the chest, biting and striking across my body. Without my duster I would normally have been vulnerable, had it not been for the ice that had blossomed across my body. Their teeth struck helplessly at the frozen barrier, unable to penetrate the mantle's armor and the lightly enchanted suit.

Snake Boy had just enough time to realize his attack had failed before my ice covered right fist slammed into his jaw. Between our combined momentum, the strength offered me by the mantle, and the rigid row of icy spikes that had formed across my knuckles, I landed a blow that shattered his jaw and nearly broke his neck.

While the Denarian was still reeling, I let my momentum carry me past him. Flicking my left arm up and around, I looped the excess length of the ice chain around his neck. Then it was a simple matter of spinning around, pulling his massive form one-handed to fling him away.

Snake Boy tumbled round and round as he flew through the air, his long serpent's tail writhing until he slammed into the swirling tendrils of steel that Deirdre was using to keep Michael at bay.

Whatever protection his scales offered didn't hold up against her hair. The serpent demon screamed as his skin was shredded to pieces. The other Denarian started to turn, but then Snake Boy slammed into her, carrying her to the ground.

Michael glanced my way, a look of gratitude flickering across his face. He'd moved to shelter the other tall Knight, who was down and bleeding, cradling an arm that didn't seem to be responding. My friend hadn't been spared injury either, and I saw red streaks across his face and hands.

Shiro was holding his own against Nicodemus, the two dancing in an odd blend of shadows and light. The dark tendrils of Nicodemus's power couldn't seem to get past the halo of illumination emanating from the short Knight's sword. At the same time, Shiro couldn't seem to best the Denarian's guard, resulting in a stalemate.

I started forward, only to stagger as something landed atop me. I felt hard claws rake at my icy armor, but the black talons didn't break through.

Releasing my grip on the frost rod, I reached over my shoulder and grabbed at the black blubbery form attacking me. As I tried to seized it, I sent power into my blasting rod, letting it grow hot enough to melt the ice that had formed over it while I'd been punching Snake Boy.

As soon as I grabbed hold of the vampire's neck, I squeezed tight, eliciting a pained scream from the beast that threatened to shatter my eardrums. With the strength of the mantle, I pulled it off and over me, the dark limbs struggling to find purchase as I flung it forward.

" _Fuego!_ " I shouted, sending a column of flame at the thing. The blue-white blast hit it center mast, and the creature screamed and flailed as the column of fire carried it into the far shadows of the room.

A scream from behind me drew my attention, and I turned in time to see Susan drawing back a black-clawed hand to swipe across Sía's throat.

"Susan, no!" I shouted, twisting around.

My words caused her to freeze, her head spinning to look in my direction. I stumbled to a stop as I looked at her, noting the extensive damage done by Sía's and Garcia's combined attacks.

Half of the flesh on her face had been torn away, leaving her true form exposed. More rends had been made in her skin, and her right hand and forearm were nothing more than the dark thin limb of a Red Court vampire.

She seemed to shutter as I looked at her, the still human side of her face twisting into something akin to horror. It was as if me seeing her true form were the worst pain I could have inflicted. There was a long moment where we looked upon one another, one monster laid bare while the other stood covered in frost.

Then she was gone. Susan released her hold on Sía and darted away, heading for the door. She was empty-handed, so I didn't try to stop her.

Instead I started toward Sía, who I saw had retrieved the case. She looked up from where she had fallen, a grim set to her face as she started to rise.

And then a coil of golden line wrapped around her throat, pulling her off balance. Sía's eyes went wide as she was wrenched backwards, and I turned to watch as Sigrun Gard yanked the lycanthrope toward her.

It seemed her jewelry was more than just decoration. The gilded coil around her left forearm was gone, revealed to be a thin whip that the warrior woman had used to strike out at Sía. As the lycanthrope landed at her feet, Gard reached for the cannister in her grip.

Despite being caught off-guard, Sía wasn't ready to give up the fight. A snarl escaped her curled lips as she held fast to the tube, even as she tried to right herself. Her free hand snapped toward Gard's side, landing a powerful blow that would have doubled over any mortal.

Gard barely grunted at the punch, before releasing the whip to grab Sía's face. As the lycanthrope tried to seize at the larger woman's wrist, the warrior simply slammed her head into the wall.

Blood spattered against the dry wall, and my vision went red as I saw Sía collapse weightlessly.

Something must have been left in her, as she held fast to the case when Gard tried to pull it away. The warrior woman wrenched at it with her body, her free hand snapping into Sía's shoulder. The blow was hard enough to break bone, and Sía's grip failed as she flopped to the ground.

Gard had just enough time to turn before I was there, my blasting rod discarded as I gave myself over to the mantle.

Razor sharp ice claws tore into her as she turned, her eyes going wide as her blood arced through the air. She swung a fist around toward me, but my arm shot up and deflected the blow, the thick ice gauntlet around my forearm tearing open the unprotected flesh of her arm.

And then my left fist struck her face, the icy knuckles crushing her just like they had done to Snake Boy. The left was followed by a right, and then another, and another, as I mercilessly laid into the witch that had killed Sía.

An impact on my left side threw me off balance, the icy armor across me taking the brunt of the shotgun blast before the metal pellets sheered through the ice. A wave of pain washed over me as a dozen small spheres thudded into my side. I fell away from the attack, even as I unleashed a torrent of icy wind that shredded Hendrick's armor and skin alike. The man flew back, his massive form shattering a large pane of glass before tumbling outside into the dark alley.

With him out of the way, I glanced to my side, noting the damage I'd taken. He'd fired a shell of steel pellets at me from short range. Only the spells laid into the suit had kept me from being shredded, as the metal shot had torn through the ice provided by the mantle. That, and the fact that he'd aimed low rather than at my head. Thank God sawed off shotguns don't spread the shot quite as much as movies would have you believe.

But while I was in pain, I wasn't dead. Nor had any of the steel pellets pierced my skin, as I could still feel the power of the Winter Knight coursing through my veins, along with its rage. Had the metal punctured my defenses and gotten beneath my flesh, it would have interfered with the mantle. I'd found that out the hard way a short time after becoming the Knight, and was careful not to let such a minor thing take the power from me.

Even as the ice reformed across my left side, I snarled out a summoning spell, holding my right arm out. The frost rod leapt into my hand as if it were on a string. Power flowed into it as I turned back to Gard, the air shrieking at the sudden formation of the ice sword. The mantle was furious, and I wasn't much better. I might not have avenged Susan, but I could damn well avenge Sía.

I reared back, ready to take Gard's head off, when a powerful grip seized me by my left shoulder. That aggravated the pain I was feeling, and I howled with unbridled madness, a howl that would strike fear into any that heard it.

The hand pulled at me all the same, dragging me off the woman. I snarled, my vision a blur of blue ice and red rage as I spun, shrugging off their hand as I rose, the sword whistling through the air as I sought to behead whoever had grabbed me.

Bright light seared my vision as my sword shattered against Michael's shining blade.

My chest heaved as I stared at my friend, who stared back at me in appalled shock.

"Harry, stop," he gasped, his pale face blanching at the sight of me.

"No," I growled out, my voice guttural and savage. "She killed her."

"Harry, you have to control it," Michael urged. "You cannot let it consume you."

"NO!" I screamed, the shout accompanied by an unintended burst of air that rocked Michael back a couple of steps.

"Harry…"

I spun, fury coursing through me like scarlet lightning. I looked for who had spoken, and saw a familiar face looking up at me from where she knelt on the floor. Half of her face was covered in blood, and she was favoring her broken arm, but Sía was alive and breathing.

My breath was a rapid pant as the world spun around me. Sía was alive.

Part of me felt relieved. But another part of me was unable to control itself; my blood was boiling with incandescent rage, still fueled by the thought that she'd been killed. I staggered backwards, my frost-covered arms trembling.

I turned about, looking for someone to unleash my fury at. The room was a mass of shadows, of desperately thrashing bodies all trying to kill one another. It was a maelstrom of death, one that made the mantle sing with joy. It wanted nothing more than to wade into it, slashing and tearing at everyone and everything.

My heart lurched at the visceral desire to kill and maim indiscriminately. I could no longer tell what thoughts were mine and what were the mantle's.

I was pulled apart, my two selves unable to reconcile.

I screamed as I stumbled, a horrible sound that crossed the room in a pulse that shattered the remaining windows and glass bulbs overhead. It was followed by a wave of unbridled power that struck at friend and foe alike, wreaking havoc in the madness.

Wind sheer tore at the vampires and humans still struggling across the way. Ice particles traveling at shotgun speeds slammed into everyone in front of me. Fallen and Knight, gangster and monster. None were spared as most of the room frosted over in an instant.

Time seemed to slow down as I collapsed to my knees, my vision throbbing. My head was pounding, feeling as if it were about to burst. Icy claws clutched at my frost covered temples, trying to dig their way inside my skull to relieve the pressure.

As I fell to one side, my eyes watched as those that survived the onslaught stumbled about. Michael had been closest, and was down on the ground. His back was turned to me, but it looked as if he were covered in ice.

Shiro was further away, crouched on a knee with what looked like an icicle lodged into one shoulder. He'd been sheltering Sanya, who was still down from Deirdre's attacks.

Lady Hydra herself had formed a wall of steel hair to protect herself from the blast. A coating of ice broke from the surface as she moved, revealing herself and the ruined body of Snake Boy behind her. She'd taken some damage at some point in the fight, although it seemed more likely that it had been inflicted by one or more of the Knights rather than myself.

Movement to one side caught my eye, and I saw Marcone rise up. He must have been behind me when I unleashed that last attack, as he looked largely unscathed. The cylinder containing the Shroud was gripped tightly in one hand, while he held an assault rifle in the other. It looked to be the snub nosed one Hendricks had been carrying earlier.

I got a good look at it, as it was pointed at my head.

Marcone's look was as cold as the room as he took aim, ready to end me.

A blur of motion distracted the gangster before he could pull the trigger. He turned to the threat as he back-pedaled, and I saw a flash of silverly steel, followed by an arc of red blood. The gangster fell backwards, his finger pulling the trigger and sending a barrage of shots into Nicodemus, who had swiped his blade up across his face.

The Denarian stumbled, clearly wounded by the shots but not killed. Blood spread across his clothing, but the look on his face imparted that he was more inconvenienced by the attack than actually harmed.

I watched helplessly as Nicodemus stumbled toward the cannister, which Marcone had dropped. A determined glint flickered in the Denarian's eyes as he reached for it.

The blinding light behind him made him spin, as Shiro picked himself up off the floor and held his Sword aloft.

My eyes swam for a moment as more lights appeared, a swirl of blues and reds and yellows and greens. Magenta light flared in front of my face while others swept past, spinning through the air like a dance of fireflies.

Massive, foot tall fireflies wearing armor.

I could just make out Nicodemus as he turned back, only to realize the cannister had been lifted off the ground by a team of small faeries. His shadow flickered forward, but the light from Shiro's sword grew closer, and Nicodemus had to retreat, or leave himself exposed to the man.

The swirl of lights shot past me, leaving only two behind. Tiny faces tried to bring me around, their frantic cries sounding distorted and muffled.

I ignored them, and looked to Sía. She was sitting up and looking my way. She'd been against the wall, and had been spared from my wild burst of magic. I saw her nod, a grim set to her face as she mouthed something.

"Go."

Insistent hands clutched at me, pulling me. Somehow I managed to stumble to my feet, the icy armor melting as the power from the mantle faded. My footing was unsteady, but the two faeries pulled at my shoulders, keeping me upright.

Together we stumbled toward the broken window and out into the night. I passed the unmoving form of Hendricks, who looked to still be breathing. I think that mattered, but my mind was too fuzzy to know for sure.

My bleeding ears could hear an odd warbling. Flashing lights reflected off the walls of the alley, shining in from one end. The two faeries led me in the other direction. A scream in one ear made its way through the fog, something familiar. Something about a veil.

Some part of me understood, and a mumbled spell cast in me shadows as I stumbled away from the carnage, sliding further into the dark.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

I don't remember much of the ride home. That's probably for the best, considering who was driving.

Between Toot pushing the pedals and Lacuna steering, the two faeries got me back to the house, where they parked the Gremlin in the garage. They then helped me into the townhome, where Bob activated the wards, sealing us safely behind a solid threshold that no-one was getting past.

The rest of the Guard had already arrived with the Shroud in tow. It'd been deposited in the triple ring summoning circle in the basement chamber. As badly as I wanted to go upstairs and pass out, Bob made me first go down and seal the circle. That way it should be safe from any divination as to its whereabouts.

Not that I was sure anyone was still alive to be looking for it.

The shower was ice cold, causing me to shake uncontrollably. Cold hadn't been a problem ever since I'd become the Winter Knight, but it seemed like my bond with the mantle was tenuous at the moment. My veil had seen me out of the alley, but it hadn't been the efficient one I'd grown accustomed to. It had been one of my old ones that blinded me as much as anyone else. I'd dropped it as soon as we were clear, and hadn't reached for any power since.

After what I'd done, I wasn't sure I ever would again.

Toot tried to force some food down, a broth soup that unfortunately tasted more like vegetables than pizza. But my stomach was knotted, and all it did was provide more fuel as I was violently sick, before I finally passed out shivering beneath the covers.

I slept restlessly for hours, my dreams plagued by nightmares, only to wake and realize they weren't dreams after all.

When I finally rose, Lacuna was waiting with the daily report. I listened with numb detachment as she updated me on what she'd been able to find out.

"The Guard managed to retrieve not only the Shroud, but your rods as well," she explained. "You had left some blood at the scene, but we made sure it was contaminated. Your hat stayed on for the duration; there should be no evidence that you were present."

I nodded, my eyes unfocused. She continued. "The mortal authorities arrived as we were leaving. There was a delay, as they had to work their way through the crowd evacuating the building. By the time they made it through, all three Denarians had escaped, as had the small Knight of the Cross."

"Michael?" I asked, dreading the answer.

"He and the other tall Knight were taken into custody by the police, and received medical treatment," Lacuna said. A sob escaped my lips as she spoke, but she thankfully ignored it. "Ms. MacTire was conscious when they took her in. Mr. Moss has already called to report that she will be alright."

My head was bobbing, and I couldn't seem to stop. Lacuna kept rolling. "Mr. Marcone and his people were all taken in for medical treatment. His witch seemed to be in critical condition, and was apparently crashing. But in the middle of their treatments, she just sat up. Her injuries has mostly faded already. The doctors are confused."

"Any word on Susan?" I asked.

"She fled the fight prior to the end," Lacuna confirmed. "We saw her helping what I assumed was Mr. Ortega from the premises, although it was hard to tell."

"Great," I mumbled, looking toward the clock. "Guess the duel is still on."

Lacuna nodded. "We received a call from the intermediary's chaperon. She wishes to speak with you when possible."

I looked up at that. "Am I in trouble?"

The tiny fairy just shrugged. She'd been practicing the expression, but it was still awkward. "The rules of the Accords stipulate that individuals involved in a violation claim must refrain from unscheduled contact. Based on what transpired, she will either rule against both of you, or let it go."

"Great," I repeated, managing to roll my eyes as I laid back in bed.

"Lieutenant Murphy has already stopped by once to speak with you," she continued. "She did not appear to be here in any official capacity, so we disabled the bell and let you sleep."

"Thanks for that," I told her. The last thing I wanted to do was answer the door looking like I'd just been through the ringer. Especially when Murphy likely suspected my involvement in what had happened at the hotel.

I knew Sía would leave me out of it. I could hope Michael and Sanya would as well, although the Russian seemed like the weakest link. With Susan, Ortega, and the Denarians gone, only Marcone and his people would be able to identify me. I might be able to survive accusations from them, given the known hostility between us.

Then again, that same hostility might be enough to give the cops justifiable cause to come knocking at my door.

"What about the other Churchmouse?" I asked. "Garcia?"

"She was injured, but not terribly so," Lacuna advised. "The police apprehended her, but she has already escaped."

I recalled the money she and Valmont had taken as deposits to participate in the auction. "Hopefully she's long gone."

"Actually, she is with the other Knight at St. Mary's," Lacuna said, surprising me. At my look, she nodded crisply. "You never retracted the order to have her shadowed."

"Ah," I said. "So she caught up with Shiro?"

"He caught up with her," Lacuna corrected me. "He witnessed her escape, and convinced her that holy ground was the safest place to hide from the Denarians. She has remained there ever since."

"Maybe if she keeps her head down, she'll get out of this."

Lacuna nodded again. "I should warn you that Lieutenant Murphy has been by the Church as well."

"Really?" I asked, surprised. "What for?"

"We do not know," Lacuna replied. "Our contact has only watched through the windows, and isn't very good at lip reading."

"Right. Sorry," I said, shaking my head. "Your team has performed flawlessly, Luna. I can't thank you enough."

"Our pleasure, my lord." She gave a bow, before looking to me expectantly. "Would you like me to relay a message to the intermediary?"

I looked at the time again, seeing that most of the day had already passed. With it being winter, there were only a few hours left before sundown. "Yeah, tell her I'll meet with her shortly." I glanced up at the fairy. "Any word from Nicodemus?"

"No," she replied.

"I guess I'll have to hope he keeps his word."

"As long as you have the Shroud, I cannot see him betraying you," she replied.

I pursed my lips, considering my options. "I guess I'll have to decide soon if I'm going to hand it over to him, or give it to Vincent."

Lacuna's wings fluttered quickly as she bobbed in the air. "Did you not swear upon your power to give it to Nicodemus?"

"I did."

"And would breaking that vow not cost you your power?"

"It might."

Lacuna frowned, clearly confused. "Then why would you do that?"

"Because maybe I don't deserve the power I have."

My head was hanging when I said it, my hands on my knees as I sat on the edge of the bed. I didn't see her reaction, but I saw her swoop down to stand beside me on the comforter. "You regret your actions from last night."

"No," I replied softly. "I regret my actions for the last couple of years."

And what a few years it had been. On the run from the Council, I'd killed to survive. Wardens and assassins alike. And then, when I'd grown desperate, I'd become the Winter Knight. I'd been a fool to think that I could control such power, or offer any resistance to the monsters I served. I was a slave to both.

That much was obvious after the previous night. In a moment of rage, I'd given in to the mantle, and had nearly beaten a woman to death. Hell, I'd almost killed Hendricks with magic, something I'd avoided doing even when on the run from the Council. And _then_ I'd almost killed my own friend, as he'd tried to save me from myself.

Not to mention what I'd done to any humans left among those fighting in the shadows.

Lacuna hadn't volunteered anything about that. I wasn't sure if it was because she didn't know, or she knew that it might break me.

It didn't matter, really. Whether anyone had died or not, I'd once again turned the force of life into a maelstrom of death. At Bianca's, it had been a fire spell that had created whirlwinds of fire that had killed anything and everything in their path. At the hotel, it'd been an icy wind spell that had shredded flesh and bone of friend and foe alike.

I laughed bitterly, finally admitting to myself that the Council was right. I was a monster, one that wielded magic with reckless abandon. All to save my own skin.

Lacuna stood by, letting me organize my thoughts. When I turned to her, it was to find an expectant look. "What will you do, my lord?"

My face hardened as I came to a decision. "What I have to."

* * *

Lacuna contacted Kincaid while I freshened up. I'd been pleased to find that my eardrums weren't burst, but I was still tender all over. I'd come out of the fight remarkably unscathed, although the impacts from the shotgun had left bruising all along my left side. I knew if I hadn't laid those spells into the suit, I'd be dead.

By the time I was done, Lacuna returned to inform me that the Archive was en route. I headed downstairs to await her arrival. It didn't take long, and I dropped the outer ward and opened the gate as I stepped outside.

I pulled my duster closed, surprised by how the cold affected me. It was enough to cause me to shiver, and for once I was glad for my hat for more than just the spells laid into it.

When Kincaid parked, I headed down the steps. I was waiting when the Archive stepped out, that day dressed in a lilac ski suit and purple down jacket. I smiled at the sight of her.

"Mr. Dresden," she said softly, her face impassive as she looked up. Considering the difference in our heights, her neck was fully craned back.

Acting on impulse, I sat down on the gravel driveway. That seemed to surprise the two of them, but it put me almost at eye level with the girl. "Welcome back."

The Archive's head tilted oddly as she studied me. "You seem different today, Mr. Dresden."

"Call me Harry," I replied.

"I'm not sure that would be appropriate," she stated.

"Are you here to kill me?" I asked.

"Did you attack Duke Ortega last night?" she replied.

Rather than just denying it outright, I actually stopped to think about the engagement. "Yes."

The girl's eyes hardened. "You attempted to kill him?"

"Not initially," I replied. "It got chaotic kind of quick. At first I tried to simply knock him away. But when he went after my friend, I hit him with something that could have killed him, if I'd really wanted him dead."

The Archive's eyes narrowed further. Kincaid just watched impassively. "You did not wish him dead?"

I sighed lightly, feeling like a weight had been lifted off my chest. "Yes. No. Both, maybe. But not really."

The girl seemed to consider that. "Would you be willing to negotiate a settlement?" the Archive asked.

"The only thing he offered was to turn me into a vampire," I informed her. "I'm still not willing to do that, but if he wants a were-gild or something, I'm willing to pay." I sat up a little. "Not that I'm admitting guilt. I still feel my actions at the party were in the right. But they resulted in Bianca losing people."

The girl studied me for a long time. I assumed she was determining if she was going to kill me or not. And I found that I was okay with that. A calm had settled over me ever since Lacuna and I had talked, and I'd come to my decision.

Eventually the girl nodded. "I will not rule against you for your actions last night." She glanced toward Kincaid. "Ortega was not so forthcoming, and denied that you and he crossed paths in the fight."

"Like I said, it was chaotic," I replied. "Maybe he thought someone else hit him with ice magic."

"Perhaps," the girl said with a frown. "Regardless, the duel shall commence at sundown. Mr. Ortega has presented no other options to me for reconciliation, other than your conversion. But I will be sure to provide him with an opportunity to request something else before the fight."

I offered her a weak smile. "I guess we'll see then."

"I will see you in a few hours, Mr. Dresden," the girl said, before turning back to Kincaid. The chauffeur, who was once again wearing the hat, opened her door for her and let her in while I rose.

I nodded to him as I started toward the door, but stopped when he spoke. "Dresden." I turned back, and saw him looking at me from across the car. "You had better come ready for a fight tonight. Regardless of what you or she might hope, Ortega is not going to let this go."

"I figured," I told him.

The man studied me, as if he were finding something other than what he'd expected. After another moment, he climbed into the car, and started down the drive.

I headed back toward the house, my hands shoved in my pockets to try and keep warm.

* * *

I got a call late in the afternoon from Sía, who assured me she was going to be okay. She'd suffered a concussion from the head injury, which had looked worse than it'd been. Her arm was broken, but that would mend in time.

Her primary concern was for me. She'd seen what I'd done, and what I'd become.

"Are you sure you're alright?" she asked for the upteenth time.

"I'm fine," I repeated. "Just getting ready for tonight."

"Okay," she said, sounding unconvinced. "Be careful. And watch your back."

"I will."

"I'm serious," she said. "Moss said that Marcone's people have started to retaliate against us. They seem to think we're to blame for what happened.

"What about you?" I asked quickly.

"I've got a couple guys here," she assured me. "And the cops have a small battalion of men stationed in this wing. Marcone is still in intensive care."

"He's lucky to be alive," I commented, recalling Nicodemus's attack.

"That's what I heard," she confirmed. "Doctor-patient confidentiality aside, the rumor is he lost an eye."

"Wow," I said, unable to hide my surprise. "That's…"

"Yeah," Sía grumbled. "The last thing he needed was an eye-patch to make him look even more sinister."

That wasn't exactly where I was going with it, but I let it slide. "Just be careful."

"I'm surrounded by cops and robbers," she said flippantly. " _You_ _'_ _re_ the one going to fight undead monsters before brokering a deal with a devil."

I hadn't told her my decision. "I'll be fine."

She still seemed reluctant to believe me, but there was nothing I could do about that. With neither of us comforted by the call, we said our goodbyes, and I finished getting ready for the duel.

* * *

Shortly before nightfall, as the hues in the sky became mottled and bruised, I pulled the Gremlin into the vast parking surrounding the United Center.

Given the time of day, much less the cold temperatures of an arctic winter, the place was all but deserted. There was no-one on the streets, and only those shops desperate for the random patron were open. There were a few places in the area that had their lights on, but not as many as their should have been on a Friday night. Not after the recession hit the previous summer.

I made my way to one of the entrances, where a car was waiting at the curb. I watched as the driver opened the rear door, and Ortega and Susan stepped out.

The sunlight was too far gone for it to bother them. Neither looked any worse for wear after the previous night. Their skin was as flawless as ever, although I noted that Ortega's face was rigid as he looked in my direction. He didn't stare very long, before he suddenly turned and headed for the door. It opened as he approached, and I spotted Kincaid holding it open from the inside.

Susan lingered on the sidewalk, and I wondered what she was thinking. The last I'd seen of her, she'd been torn to pieces. Now she was whole, and wearing a simple black outfit consisting of a black t-shirt and black jeans. Apparently the cold was affecting me more than it was her.

She offered me a weak smile as I walked up. "Glad to see you made it out of there."

"You too," I said softly. I glanced toward the door, where Ortega had disappeared inside. "Guess he's eager to get started."

"He's going to kill you, Harry," Susan said simply.

"He'll try," I replied, my tone light despite the danger. I was still riding high on my detached mental state, despite the conversation with Sía bringing me down a bit.

"No, I mean he's going to kill you," she replied with a shake of her head. "Rules be damned. If he's winning, he'll take pleasure in defeating you. If he's losing, he'll cheat. Either way, he doesn't plan on letting you walk out of here alive."

"I guess Kincaid was right," I said. "No chance of us avoiding this."

"Not after last night," Susan said quietly. Her eyes drifted toward the stadium. "I had to carry him out, Harry. That last attack of yours almost finished him."

I'd wondered if that vampire I'd pulled off my back had been him. The only two Reds on that side of the room had been him and Susan, and it hadn't been her. My fire spell had hit hard enough to obliterate a lesser vamp; and yet Ortega looked un-phased.

"He looked alright just now," I said.

Susan studied me for a very long moment. "That's because he drained three families."

And just like that, my calm was gone.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, her face flushing. "I didn't mean it like that."

"No," I said, my voice low and cold. "I understand."

Once again I'd fucked up.

I'd thought I'd learned my lesson from Bianca's. I'd even rubbed it in Michael's face. Don't leave wounded enemies at your back, or they'll come at you again. Finish them when you have the chance.

I'd let Ortega live, becoming distracted with everything else.

And now three families were dead because of me.

"How many?" I asked.

"Harry…"

"How many?" I repeated, my voice surprisingly calm.

"Twelve," she whispered as softly as she could.

I nodded, the number not meaning anything. It could have been as many as a hundred, or only just one. It was still too many. Too many lives taken because of my foolishness.

"And how many did you eat?" I asked, my tone sounding odd even to my ears.

Susan blanched, her face draining of whatever blood pumped through her veins. _Whoever_ _'_ _s_ blood.

"Never-mind," I said, turning to look at the approaching limo. "It doesn't matter."

I'm not sure vampires can be hurt, but if they can, I think I hurt Susan then. She probably could have lived with my rage, or my sadness. Either would have been understandable, something she could recognize.

Instead, I offered her the same detached coldness that Michael had when he'd seen her.

Because she was no longer Susan Rodriguez.

As the limo pulled to a stop, Susan started toward the stadium. I waited for Nicodemus, who stepped out of the car with a mild indifference to his face that bordered on cocky.

"Mr. Dresden," he said with a slight smile. "Sorry I'm late. I had to pick something up."

"It's fine," I told him.

His lips pursed at my tone. "Do you still have it?"

"Yes."

"And it's nearby?"

"Yes," I repeated.

"Excellent," he said, his smile widening. Tucking his hands in his pockets, the man looked to the stadium. "Then let us finish, so that we can both get on with the time we have remaining."

I walked into the stadium with the monster at my side, to face the monsters that wanted to kill me.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Nicodemus and I took the long walk into the stadium. It seemed to take forever.

"That was an impressive display last night," the demon said, his eyes sliding to look at me.

"If you say so," I replied.

A rueful smile slid onto Nicodemus's face. "Deirdre will be fine, in case you were wondering."

"I wasn't," I told him. "What about Snake Boy?"

The name made Nicodemus laugh. "Ah, Cassius. Yes, he's fine as well. Took him a while to pull himself together, so to speak. And not terribly pleased with you, of course."

"I seem to have that affect on you lot."

"Oh, I don't know," Nicodemus said pleasantly enough. "I've been thoroughly entertained so far."

I cast a glance at him, my eyes catching on his odd choice in tie. His wardrobe didn't have much variety. "That was smooth, sending Snake Boy in as LaRouche."

"Yes, one of Cassius's many talents," Nicodemus replied. "He can form and shed skins quite like a snake."

"Cards, indeed," I said with a shake of my head. "Until the Knights showed up, you had four out of five chances of getting the Shroud."

The Denarian's smile disappeared. "Yes, that was unfortunate." He cast another glance my way, a more weighing look this time. "I take it they must have heard about the auction from others?"

"Didn't hear it from me," I confirmed.

"Good," he replied. "For a minute I thought you might have tried having me eliminated so that you wouldn't have to deliver the Shroud."

"And lose the duel by forfeit?"

Nicodemus tilted his head, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "It did occur to me that with Ortega there as well, you could have gotten out from beneath both of our thumbs at once."

I wished it'd occurred to me. But that's the nature of fast and unexpected fights. You didn't have the convenience of time offered by hindsight. It seemed so simple now; kill Ortega, and make it seem like something he started. Should have been easy enough in the confusion and the dark.

But at the time, my primary concern had been for myself, Sía, and the Shroud. Had I been willing to give up on one of those other two, I could have killed Ortega at my leisure.

I liked to think that was a sign that I wasn't quite yet the monster I felt like. That I was still prioritizing human life over other things.

A lot of good that had done those three families.

"Fear not, Mr. Dresden," Nicodemus said. "Our deal will be concluded soon enough."

"Great," I replied dryly.

We finally made our way into the stadium. The indoor arena was used by both the Bulls and the Blackhawks, the local hockey team. It seemed the next home game was to be basketball, as that was how the arena was configured. From what I understood, the place could be flipped from one to the other in fairly short order.

There was a musty smell to the air that I couldn't quite place. As we made our way out, I saw that the others were standing near mid-court. Ortega was further out, while I noted that Susan was speaking with Kincaid. The man was wearing a long winter coat, which Susan was brushing with her fingers as she spoke with him. The bodyguard didn't seem to care for the conversation or her presence, his face a blank mask.

Susan seemed to sense his displeasure, and took a step back. Once she was out of reach, Kincaid glanced around the arena, as if annoyed the woman had distracted him from keeping a watchful eye on the place. As if there might be someone else present.

Which was a possibility. The place could seat twenty thousand people, and most of it was shrouded in darkness. Only the lights over the court were on. I recalled Susan's warning, and wondered if Ortega had anything planned. Seemed likely.

When Nicodemus and I arrived at center court, the Archive rose from her court-side seat. I noted that she was carrying a large wooden box with her, one that had seen some extensive carvings made into its sides. She carried it as if it were some considerable weight, but that didn't take much for a child of her size. She'd changed out of her lilac outfit and into something a little darker, a little more somber.

As she approached, Susan wrapped up her conversation with Kincaid and returned to Ortega's side. She whispered something to him, but it didn't seem to register. The man didn't give her a second glance; his eyes had been pinned on me since I walked in.

He was wearing a long coat, similar to mine but made of canvas rather than leather. Maybe Susan was offering to buy him one like mine; she'd gotten it for me, after all.

The floorboards creaked as we went, and eventually I took up position across from Ortega, with Nicodemus remaining a pace back. When the Archive reached Kincaid, she looked back and forth between us. "Winter Knight Dresden has inquired as to whether the Red Court would be willing to accept—"

"We would not," Ortega said darkly, his eyes remaining fixed on me as he cut her off.

The Archive looked to him for a long moment, before turning to me. "It seems we are set to conclude matters with a duel. Are both sides ready?"

I nodded, while Ortega just stared at me.

Slowly the Archive opened the wooden box she held, and a nauseating feeling washed over me, even from a distance. The two vampires didn't react, but Nicodemus's shadow shifted almost nervously.

The Archive saw my reaction. "You know what this is?"

I half nodded, half shook my head. "I think so."

The girl inclined her head again, before turning to the others. "This material is called mordite," she explained, looking around to make sure everyone heard the caution in her tone. "Some call it Deathstone. To come into contact with it is to invite death."

"Deathstone?" Susan mused, one corner of her mouth tilting up in amusement as she studied the odd blob of amorphous mist that seemed to enshroud a small object within the box. The fog writhed along the edges of the wood, as if unable to pass over it of its own accord. "It looks like a bubble with tentacles."

Said tentacles were slowly slithering along the invisible wall around the box's edge. It was as if the stone had a mind of its own, and was seeking out something to destroy.

"It is not of this reality," the Archive continued as she stepped forward, before placing the box right at center court. "Only an enchantment keeps it in check. If freed, it would devour anyone it came into contact with."

"Devour?" Susan repeated, her eyes widening.

"It's from Outside," I explained, although that wouldn't really do much to help someone that hadn't received Council training on such matters. "It's… congealed anti-life. Even being close to it is dangerous."

"So… not something you'd want for your birthday?" she replied, quirking an eyebrow.

"No."

"The enchantment binding the mordite is also sensitive to applied will," the Archive continued. "The duelists will face each other, with the mordite between them. Will it toward your opponent. He with the greatest will controls the mordite. The duel will end once it has devoured one of you."

I might have swallowed nervously at that.

"Seconds will observe from behind and beside, observing their duelist's opponent. Should anyone break the rules of the duel, Mister Kincaid will act accordingly."

" _Accord_ -ingly," I whispered in the general direction of Nicodemus. "Get it?"

The man just gave me a blank stare, his shadow seemingly too large considering the light shining down around us.

"Seconds, please step back to your positions," the Archive stated. Susan and Nicodemus moved at her command, while I noted that Kincaid stepped forward to speak to the Archive. His eyes remained on Nicodemus, which seemed to amuse my second.

After Kincaid finished speaking, the Archive's eyes drifted toward Nicodemus as well. But when she spoke, it was to Ortega and I. "Do either of you have any last words?"

I watched as Ortega drew a band of black and silver beads from his pocket. He quickly wrapped them around his left wrist, and I could feel the defensive energies bound up in the crafting. His eyes were flat as he stared across the way. "Goodbye, Mister Dresden."

"Sunshine and holy piss," I said in reply.

While Ortega's gaze narrowed, I idly wondered if I should have brought something with me to help my focus. My shield bracelet was on my wrist, and my rods were hanging beneath my coat. None of those would help me manifest my will, and using them would most likely be a violation of the rules.

I'd left my staff in the car, figuring they wouldn't let me use it in the fight. The next best thing was my mother's pendant, but I wasn't sure if that would help me right now. It was the symbol I used when channeling magic, but pure will was a completely different flavor of power than I was used to wielding. Maybe it would help, but not as much as a charm designed specifically for that use.

I only had one other item on me, and that wouldn't be of use until after I won. Assuming I won.

But it was too late to worry about that now. The Archive stepped backward and extended one hand toward the box. "Please present your right hands."

Ortega and I obeyed, and I watched as the Archive slowly lifted her own. The mordite rose from the box as she did, the tendrils of translucent smoke wavering around the shard at the center of its mass. The fog expanded outward slightly as it was freed from the enchantments on the box, until it was a roiling mass of mist centered between me and Ortega.

When it was in position, a tension spread across my palm, as if something were pushing against it. Even at a distance, the material was overpowering, threatening to break my concentration with its sheer power. It slithered about, and I could almost feel it trying to slip around my focused will.

Which would be very, very bad.

I steadied my suddenly rapidly beating heart, and concentrated my will on the Deathstone. Ortega did as well from across the way, his body tensing as he prepared.

"Begin."

As soon as she spoke, the stone lurched toward me. Ortega shouted out something harsh and ancient, a cry that punctuated his will as he thrust his arm forward. The mordite responded to him, swirling in mid-air as it came at me, closing the distance in a blink.

I hardened my will, and the stone froze about a meter away. Ortege's will lashed at it from the other side, a torrent of wild energy that threatened to overpower my own. But a cold feeling had crept into my veins as I stood there, a sense of purpose filling me as I stared down the monster across the way.

"How many?" I asked quietly, my eyes rising to look at Ortega. The power lashed against my hand, but I kept it in check.

"How many what?" the vampire replied, his eyes snapping back and forth between me and the stone. It seemed like he thought he should be doing better than he was.

"How many have you killed over the years?" I clarified.

"Countless," he replied, a confident sneer settling over his face. "And countless more will die after you're dead. Starting with your lycanthrope friends."

"How many?" I repeated.

Ortega's eyes narrowed. "Why bother keeping count? Each was nothing more than a meal. Do you keep track of how many cows have died to keep you fed?" he asked with unbridled contempt. "No. Because such beings are beneath you. Just as you are to me."

The vampire thrust his hand forward again, renewing his efforts. The mordite bobbled in mid-air, before drifting closer. First at five feet, and then three. I could all but feel the air moving as the tendrils of pearly smoke drifted my way, the mordite seeking me out. The pressure of the stone itself had redoubled as it grew closer, requiring me to expend more energy to keep it at bay, much less try and move it away.

"I see," I replied, the first sign of strain creeping into my voice. My hand trembled with my effort, and I could feel a sweat breaking out across my scalp.

"Just let it end, fool," Ortega spat, his own face twisted with effort. "Do not prolong the inevitable. Accept the quick death offered; it is better than you deserve."

"Quick death?" I asked breathlessly, surprised. "What makes you think this would be a quick death?"

"Mordite will kill all that it touches," he replied.

"Yes," I said with a slight, tense nod, even as sweat poured down my neck. My arm was visibly shaking by then, the pressure of the mordite and his will almost too much to bare. "But it doesn't kill instantly. Not if it's only _close_ to touching you."

"What are you—"

His words faded as I allowed the cold feeling to seep through me. The sweat upon my body froze in an instant as I poured my will into the mantle, letting it merge and become one with its power.

And then I sent it at the stone, which snapped through the air toward Ortega's chest.

The stone came to a halt a mere foot from him, the smoky tendrils beginning to lash at him from so short a distance. But rather than striking him, the mist fell just short, rolling over him without making contact.

But contact wasn't required for the mordite to suck the life from you. Being close was enough, and an infinitely slower way to go.

"That's why I wanted to know how many," I said, my voice hard and cold as I stood up straight, my arm almost relaxed as I held the stone in place. Ortega's will didn't spare him any longer; _mine_ did. "I wanted to know just how long I should make this last."

Ortega gasped as he felt the Deathstone sapping his strength. His skin paled, which seemed remarkable for someone with no blood to call his own. I could see it stretch tight over his body, his form visibly thinning as the mordite drank from his aura. His knees almost buckled, which made me move the mordite away slightly, so that he couldn't end it by falling upon the Deathstone.

His right arm spasmed as he finally collapsed, his palm slipping down as he sank to his knees. The vampire's body was convulsing as I pushed the mordite closer, but kept it trapped within my will, unwilling to let the monster's misery end.

"One second for every life seems inadequate," I hissed, my fingers curling as I controlled the mordite with infinite will. Ortega's was all but gone, and with my power merging with the mantle's, it was all but easy to make a thin tendril lick across the man's neck. "But I'm afraid you wouldn't last long enough for any _true_ justice to be meted out."

My voice trembled not with strain, but with rage, as I let the mordite lash out again and again. Everywhere it touched, cloth and skin shriveled and disintegrated as the Deathstone devoured the natural materials of the world. Ortega screamed a silent scream, his eyes as wide as they could go as the stone sucked the air from his lungs. His body contorted painfully as he grew thinner and thinner, wasting away before our eyes.

His left arm flopped limply at his side, and I noticed a movement in his coat a moment before a black limb slipped free. I realized that he'd slipped his true arm out of the flesh mask he wore, the black claws of his hand tucked beneath his jacket and grasping a gun.

The gun clattered to the floor as a woeful wail escaped the shriveled husk that was Paolo Ortega.

His intentions were laid bare to all, especially after the vampires lying in wait burst from cover.

A chorus of terrible screams echoed through the arena as black blubbery forms came from every direction. Some dropped from above, the vampires having clung to the rafters and scoreboard directly overhead. More ran down the bleachers, having remained hidden in the shadows higher up. To my surprise, even the floorboards around us shattered as vampire surged up from below.

The others all reacted without hesitating. A glance revealed that Kincaid had pulled a double-barreled shotgun from beneath his long coat. As he trained it on the closest vampire surging up from beneath the flooring, a fountain of hot fire spat out from one of the barrels. The heat was intense even at a distance, and the flame burned through the vampire just as well as one of my own spells would have.

A second later another column of flame shot out from the second barrel, the metal of which appeared warped and heated after unleashing its payload. The bodyguard cast the gun aside and reached behind him, his hand coming to rest on a golf bag that had slid across the floor from the edge of the court of its own accord.

No, not under its own power. Under the power of the Archive.

"Mr. Dresden," the girl said softly, almost apologetically, before her will reached out and seized the mordite held within my own.

I'd wrapped the substance completely and utterly in my power, to the point that it was entirely under my control. Ortega's will, cultured over lifetimes of feedings, had been nothing more than a stiff wind to swat away as my will crushed it aside. It was nothing compared to my power, and that of the mantle.

In turn, my will was nothing but wind compared to the Archive's.

The girl's arm rose as she plucked the mordite from my telekinetic grasp, seeming to take no more effort than an adult taking something from an infant. I blinked in surprise as the Deathstone shot up, swirling in an arc that was almost too fast to see. Only the tendrils of mist, trailing behind it like a comet's tail, let me track its movement.

Like a whirlwind of death, the little girl directed the mordite through the air, the shard lancing through the heart of each and every one of the dozen vampires falling toward us.

Not a single one lived to reach the floor.

I stared, slack-jawed, as the girl spun the stone about, allowing it to dip down and strike those that had burst from the floor. Some were caught by fresh gouts of flame from the seemingly endless supply of shotguns in the golf bag, while the rest were sent flying as the stone cut through them like a bullet, their bodies lifeless as they plopped to the floor.

But despite their combined efforts, there were still too many to deal with on their own. Ortega had known what he'd be facing by breaking the sanctity of the duel, and had brought forth a small company of vampires to aid him in his betrayal. At least a dozen more had burst from beneath the wooden slats at our feet, while twice that many ran down from the bleachers.

While I couldn't do anything about the latter at the moment, I realized with sudden clarity that those emerging from the floor were soaking wet. A glance into one of the makeshift portals revealed the melted ice beneath the layers of insulation and wood.

When it came time to play basketball in the arena, they couldn't just remove the ice from the hockey rink. Allowing it to thaw and refreeze would take too much time, and be entirely too messy. Instead, they laid down a few layers of insulation before putting down the basketball court.

The ice was usually kept frozen by the cooling rods beneath it and the mats above it. But the vampires, thoroughly preparing for the fight, had apparently removed the layers of insulation, and then cut out the ice itself. That hadn't left enough room for them, so they'd also cut out the cooling pipes in the floor, and then laid the wooden slats back over-top the waiting vampires.

They hadn't done things by halves. But they'd also made the mistake of thawing out some of the ice and ruining the floor, explaining the musty smell and creaking floorboards.

All that meant was that there were a dozen vampires soaked to the bone as they faced the Winter Knight.

" _Infriga!_ "

The power washed out of me, re-freezing the thawed water already present by dropping the temperature in the arena. Those fighting with me were unaffected, but those unfortunate enough to be dripping wet all screamed as their blubbery flesh froze fast.

It wasn't enough to kill them outright. But it certainly made things easier for the Archive and Kincaid as they laid waste to the trapped vampires.

With those closest to us neutralized and dying, I turned my attention to those coming down from the dark bleachers. But as I looked, I found fewer than I'd thought. My eyes tracked back and forth, looking for the flickering movement of the monsters.

I caught sight of one that was close to reaching the arena floor. But an instant after it stepped out into the light, the shadows flickered out to seize it, pulling it back into the darkness as it screamed helplessly.

I turned to Nicodemus, who hadn't moved a muscle. The man simply looked at me and shrugged absently, even as his shadow writhed across the broken floor of the arena, stretching out to either side and extending into the shadows above.

"As your second, it is my responsibility to help," he said, as if embarrassed to be caught aiding us.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone of your generosity," I grumbled, while turning my attention outward to search for any vampires that had escaped my notice.

After another few moments, the arena grew silent. Kincaid had exhausted his supply of shotguns somewhere along the way and had resorted to a semi-automatic he'd pulled from somewhere. The man's head was on a swivel, searching the shadows all around. I saw him freeze, and then sight the gun up into the upper rafters. A pull of the trigger preceded a single shot, which was followed by a scream from somewhere on high. A body fell, before smacking into the shattered floor near the entrance.

Even with my senses extended, I hadn't picked up on that one. Which made me wonder how the man spotted it.

Putting the thought aside for the moment, I resumed my search, only to realize that we were alone. With dozens of dead vampires around us, only the six of us remained breathing.

I remedied that post-haste. Before anyone could say anything, I sent a basic wind spell at the wheezing form of Paolo Ortega. His body slid into one of the holes in the floor, where it quickly became soaked in the melted ice.

As I walked over, I could see him shivering within, although his gaze was distant. I wondered if there was anything left of the man to feel pain, and guessed probably not. He was little more than a husk of a vampire; the flesh mask he wore was broken and torn, and the black blubbery inside looked withered, like the thousands of year old corpse that it was.

Still, just in case…

"I take it you're going to rule against him?" I asked over my shoulder, sensing the Archive as she approached.

"He is in violation of the Accords," she stated simply, seemingly un-phased by the violence she and the others had wrought. I noted that the mordite had been returned to its box, which had thankfully remained unharmed in the chaos. "And you had all but won."

"Good," I said, before extending a hand toward the hole. The temperature inside dropped slowly, perhaps one degree a second, until it was well below freezing.

What was left of the Duke was gasping out little short breaths, his lips the only thing left exposed as he was covered in ice. The power from the mantle poured out, causing the ice to slowly seep into his flesh, causing him to cry out in pitiful whimpers as frost grew in his veins.

I knelt down beside the hole, watching as those blind eyes flinched as the pain spread. "I warned you," I said softly as I reached a hand into a pocket of my duster. "Nothing I can do about the sunshine right now, but the rest I can manage."

I don't think he could see the water bottle I drew out. Using my mouth to pull out the rubber stopper, I took a swig, before spitting it out onto his exposed lips. It arced over his form, dribbling across the exposed flesh. The water burned like acid, and the echo of a scream sounded within the solid ice encasing his chest.

I looked at the bottle. "I suppose it'll take too long if I drink it," I admitted. "And it'd be rude to whip out my junk in front of the kid anyway. Oh well. You get off easy."

At that, I upended the water bottle and squeezed, shooting a steady stream into the vampire's open mouth. The water poured down his throat, burning along the way, until the temperature froze it within him. I let the rest pool over top his lips, which had finally stopped twitching.

After another moment, the holy water had frozen solid, leaving him fully encased.

"Was that necessary?" the Archive asked from behind me. I think her tone was slightly reproachful.

"Yes," I said as I stood up. "As is this."

Thrusting a palm toward the corpse, I channeled power into a mighty kinetic blow that shattered ice, bone, and flesh. The sound of it echoed through the arena, before the air grew silent again.

When it did, there was nothing left of Duke Paolo Ortega but bloody chunks of ice.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

After a moment, I turned to the others. Nicodemus stood a short distance away, his demeanor as relaxed as it had been since I met him. If he cared one way or the other about Ortega's brutal end, he didn't let it show.

Neither did the Archive, although there was no telling with the blank mask she'd let slide over her face. Kincaid was a little less stoic, his jaw tight and his brow furrowed. He didn't seem to regret the vampire's death, but perhaps he thought the thing had deserved better.

Or maybe he was just worried about all of the cleanup that someone was going to have to do.

My eyes drifted to the last person still breathing, the vampire that had thrown herself to the ground as the fight had erupted around her. She was just rising, her eyes fixed on what was left of her superior. When she felt my stare, Susan turned to me, her face mostly blank, if a little pale.

"You kept your head down," I observed neutrally.

Susan's eyebrow quirked up, sensing a challenge in my tone. "It seemed like the best course of action." She glanced around at the remnants of the vampires all around us, their bodies littering the devastated floor. "Looks like I was right."

"Yeah. Wouldn't want to get mistaken for the enemy or anything," I muttered as I tossed the empty water bottle into the wreckage of the basketball court.

Susan's eyes narrowed. "No, I wouldn't. Especially considering that I'm _not_ the enemy."

"Well, you weren't an ally," I replied, my voice rough. "So what does that make you?"

The vampire tensed, but the reply came from an unlikely source. "Ms. Rodriguez did in fact aid us," the Archive said, surprising me.

"What are you talking about?" I asked the diminutive girl, who was looking at her shoes with some minor dismay. It seemed her boots had stepped in the bloody remnants of a vampire at some point. Crimson footprints marked the path she'd taken as she'd approached, and she gave off an annoyed sigh as she realized she'd have to dispose of the shoes.

"It was Ms. Rodriguez's warning that alerted us to Duke Ortega's intentions," the Archive replied while studying the gory tread of her boot. She finally looked up, giving a slight nod to the vampire. "Thank you for that."

"Sure. No problem," Susan replied, her tone still offended as she shot a look at me.

"What warning?" I asked, looking between them.

"This one," Kincaid said, tossing something my way. He did so blindly, his eyes not leaving Nicodemus.

I snatched the object out of the air and glanced at it. It was just a balled up note on a scrap of paper. I read what was written out in all-too-familiar handwriting, and then glanced up at Susan. "You warned them?"

The woman shrugged, her shoulders stiff with irritation. "It seemed like the best course of action," she repeated, although she sounded like she might be regretting that decision already.

"Most likely Ms. Rodriguez's effort was to ensure no blame was cast upon the Red Court for Duke Ortega's actions," the Archive stated softly.

"That's not what it was about," Susan replied, her tone curt.

"Regardless of intent, your actions were admirable," the Archive replied, neither giving nor taking offense in the exchange. "I will have to report the Duke's violation to the proper authorities, but given the Red Court's assistance in mitigating the impact of his betrayal, I do not believe any further recompense will be required."

If I understood all of that, it sounded as if Bianca was going to get off the hook. The Archive was ruling that Ortega had acted alone, despite the fact that he'd had a cadre of vampires assisting him in his attack. Since I doubted he traveled with several dozen vampires, my guess was that Bianca had lost some more people that day.

But with Susan's warning, she'd freed her liege from any reprisals. Which must have been her reason for slipping the note to Kincaid, no doubt when she was fondling him before the duel. And in turn, the man had warned the Archive before things got started, so that she'd be ready. No wonder their reactions had been so quick.

"I will inform the Margravine of your judgment," Susan said, inclining her head toward the Archive. "It was never her intention to violate the Accords."

"Like hell," I muttered. But it didn't seem my opinion was in the majority, so I shut up.

"It seems that Mr. Dresden was proven innocent," the Archive continued, turning to me. "I rule in favor of your defense. Margravine St. Claire's claims against you are dismissed." The girl turned back to Susan, a dangerous spark in her eye as her gaze hardened. "As such, there will be no reprisals against Mr. Dresden, official or otherwise. If evidence of such transgressions were to be presented, by the law of the Accords, Margravine St. Claire would be found in violation. And the issue of recompense would have to be re-examined."

Susan's nervous swallow was easy to spot as she nodded. "Understood."

And just like that, I was free and clear of Bianca's quest for vengeance.

I had no doubt the woman would still want me dead. But with the Archive ruling in my favor, she no longer had even the illusion of just cause to have me killed. No more contracts on my life, no more assassins striking when I least expected it. Her efforts had waned ever since I'd become the Winter Knight, but they'd never ceased. Not entirely.

Now it was over. I had no intention of growing lax, as there were still plenty of things out there that wanted me dead. But somehow it felt better knowing that I was out from beneath that particular worry.

The ruling would do nothing to help my standing with the Council, of course. All the duel had proven was that I was innocent of violating Guest Law. It'd do nothing to prove that I hadn't killed with magic, which was the offense that the Council had seized upon in declaring me a warlock.

But perhaps it was a beginning. A start, to righting all the wrongs that been done as a result of that night. Perhaps I could finally put that cursed evening behind me.

"I believe that concludes matters," the Archive said, nodding to me and then to Susan. She didn't even look at Nicodemus, who was keeping well clear of the little girl. Instead, she turned to Kincaid, who was watching the man with the grim necktie. "We may depart now. I will need a new pair of boots."

"I'm sure we'll find some along the way," he said, his eyes still on Nicodemus. The two started making their way across the remains of the basketball court, the girl taking his hand as they navigated the broken floor together.

"Hey, wait," I said, looking around as I realized they were about to just leave the mess they'd helped make. There were dozens of bodies that looked nothing like human. Especially the frozen kibble. "What about all of this?"

"You're the local, Dresden," Kincaid said over his shoulder. "Take care of it."

I looked to Susan, who had started making her way toward the door as well. "Really?"

"I think I helped enough already," she replied, sounding like she still hadn't forgiven me for my unspoken accusations earlier. "I'll be outside."

At last I turned to Nicodemus, who's wide-eyed shrug proceeded his slow turn to head out. "I'll be waiting as well."

"Are you kidding?" I shouted after all of them, my tone disbelieving. "You're going to leave this all to me?" No-one turned around. "What am I supposed to do with all these bodies?"

"You'll think of something," Kincaid shouted.

"He'll probably just start a fire," Susan replied. "It's kind of his thing."

"Don't think I won't!" I called after them, hoping their civic duty might prevent them from allowing such a thing at a public venue. "Seriously. Guys?"

No reply came from any of the retreating forms.

Kicking a loose board, I put my hands on my hips and looked around at the carnage. Resigned to my fate, I got to working, muttering to myself. "I could set the building on fire. I could… I could shut this whole place down. I could have this place condemned." I tossed some of the boards into a pile. "There was salt on the glass. BIG grains of salt."

* * *

Despite the temptation, I did not, in fact, burn the building down.

I only burned a little bit of it. Not even enough to set off the fire alarms.

A few dozen wind spells helped me pile the bodies together, along with the wreckage from the floor. Once I'd accounted for most of the deceased, I set fire to the mound of blubbery flesh and waxed wood.

My shield bracelet helped me contain the fire and the smoke within a firm bubble of air. The bonfire didn't last long. Despite my efforts to contain the conflagration, the heat still rolled under the floor slats, where it melted more of the ice from the rink below. That resulted in a slow flooding of the area, which ended up extinguishing the flames before they burned through all the oxygen within the bubble.

Still, enough damage had been done to the bodies that they shouldn't be that distinguishable from human. So as the flames petered out, I channeled cold air into the bubble, freezing everything inside. Smoke, ash, and char all settled across the floor, thick with frost, before I released the shield spell from around it.

See? Who's to say an old dog can't learn new tricks?

With that having taken just short of forever, I made my toward the door. The effort was likely a waste, as there was no telling how many bodies were strewn about the upper bleachers where Nicodemus had gotten to them. But I wasn't going to burn the entire building down, nor was I going to waste the entire night cleaning up the mess.

Instead, I hoped I'd gotten all of them, and went to join the others outside.

Kincaid and the Archive were long gone by then. I found Susan and Nicodemus waiting, the former keeping her distance while the two chatted. She seemed a bit unnerved by the relaxed manner of the man, while he seemed at ease.

The two turned to me, with Susan looking back at the building in surprise. "I don't see the smoke yet."

"Hah hah," I dead-panned. "I don't leave every place a smoking ruin, you know."

"No?" she asked, one eyebrow rising. "So that fire at the docks yesterday—"

"Whatever," I said, cutting her off. I looked to Nicodemus. "Could you give us a minute?"

The man gave a slight inclination of his head, his smile as thin as ever. "Take your time. So long as you deliver."

"You'll get what's coming," I replied, which only seemed to amuse the man.

Irritated by his lack of irritation, I took Susan by the arm and led her away. The look she gave me was a combination of annoyance and confusion, the latter winning out and allowing me to pull her far enough to get some privacy. "What?" she asked.

"I…" I started, only to fumble over the words. "Look, I'm sorry about what I said."

"You mean what you implied," she corrected me, frowning as she crossed her arms.

"Yes. No," I said. "Not just inside. Before the fight, out here."

Susan's posture loosened somewhat with the apology. "Okay," she said simply.

"Thanks for lying to me. Before."

She blinked at that, before letting a rueful smile slip over her lips. "Was it that obvious?"

"Not at the time, no," I said with a shake of my head. "Three families? Twelve people? I should have realized that was too much."

"You didn't look like you were ready for a fight," she said softly.

"I wasn't," I admitted.

"Then I'm glad I helped."

Looking in her eyes, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was Susan. The real Susan. I knew it wasn't, that convention and lore insisted otherwise. But she was so much like the woman I'd known.

And she'd helped me survive. First, by lying about Ortega's victims. I had no doubt he'd killed someone, maybe even a few people, to heal after the previous night's injuries. The number didn't really matter, as those deaths were on me.

But Susan's bold lie had cut through me, helped remind me what I should have been fighting for all along.

And then she'd helped again, by warning the others of Ortega's plans. This woman, this vampire, had quite possibly saved my life twice over, and maybe even some of the others.

How could I believe that everything good in her was gone?

I shot a glance back at Nicodemus, who was leaning against the limo he'd arrived in. The back window was rolled down, and it looked like he was talking with someone inside. His eyes were still on us, so I turned my back on him. "I have the Shroud," I told her, keeping my voice low.

"I figured," she replied, her eyes flitting back towards Nicodemus before returning to mine. "We heard the deal he forced you into."

"Right," I said with a nod. "I'm going to have to give it up shortly. But I thought, first…"

As I failed to continue, Susan tilted her head forward, curious. "You what?"

My heart fluttered in my chest. "I thought… maybe…" I steeled myself. "You'd want to try it."

Susan stared blankly at me. "Try what?"

"The Shroud," I whispered. "To see if it would… you know…"

The woman took a step back. "No. I don't know."

I clenched my jaw nervously. "I've felt this thing, Susan. I spent the afternoon studying it." I pitched my voice lower. "It's got real power. Serious power."

And it did. Boy did it ever. It wasn't the most powerful thing I'd seen; I'd seen too much for that. I wasn't even sure it was as powerful as the Swords of the Cross. But it was definitely on their 'frequency', as Bob described it. A source of pure, clean, beautiful power that was meant for good things.

"I don't understand, Harry," Susan replied with a frown. "What would I do with it?"

"It could…" My voice got thick. "It might heal you."

The wind blew between us, a cold wind that chilled me as I waited for her reply. It was a long time coming, as she just stared at me blankly for a full minute.

When she finally spoke, her words weren't what I was expecting. "Heal what, exactly?"

I stared at her. "You. Your condition. Your…" I nodded in her general direction. "Maybe it could make you human."

Susan took an unconscious step back, a war of emotions playing across her face. I pushed on. "I had my hands on something last year. Something that could undo any magical enchantment. Something that might have had enough power to undo what's been done to you.

"But I lost it. And I've been trying to figure out something else ever since," I whispered to her urgently. "This could be it. It's not like the other thing; I'm not even sure if it's as powerful as that was. They're too different to compare, but there's a chance. There's lore about the Shroud, that it might heal—"

"Stop," Susan said, cutting me off. Her tone chilled me further, as did the flat look she was giving me.

"I can't guarantee anything," I told her quickly. "I didn't want to say anything, but I don't have time to test it. I—"

"Harry, _stop_ ," she repeated, her tone growing more firm. I trailed off, looking at what was left of the woman I'd loved as she took another step away. "I don't want that."

"You… you what?" I asked, stunned.

"I don't want that," she repeated. "I don't want what you're offering."

I stared at her, her words not making sense in my addled mind. "What are you talking about?"

Susan's face twisted into a sad, almost regretful expression. "Harry, I don't want to go back to what I was before. I _like_ what I am."

I don't think I could have closed my mouth if I'd tried.

"Harry," she said, seeing my look. "What I am… it's different, yes. But it's not bad. Not in the way you think." She shook her head, her long gorgeous hair moving carelessly around her beautiful face. "I'm not a monster."

"But you're a _vampire_ , Susan," I replied, my tone growing terse. "You feed off people—"

" _Willing_ people," she said, cutting me. Her dark eyes danced back and forth as they stared into mine. "You'd be surprised just how many people _want_ to be fed upon. Who _want_ to feel what I can make them feel."

"But—" I sputtered.

"Harry, think about it," Susan continued. "Think about just how fucked up this world is," she said, gesturing around us. "How many people are miserable. Going to work, paying their bills. Stuck in an endless grind that they know will never end. Not until they're nothing more than a dried out husk. A lifetime spent suffering under the yoke of society, never getting anything more than a taste of real happiness."

She stepped closer, her eyes firm and full of confidence. "Those people _love_ what I give them, Harry. They love the feeling when I kiss them. When I feed from them. Giving them a bliss they could never have naturally. Short of doping themselves up with whatever Marcone is pushing these days."

"But you're killing them," I argued.

"No," she replied softly. "I don't have to. We don't have to. Not when there are so many willing to share what they have."

"Share their blood," I said numbly.

"Yes, you idiot," she replied, making me sound like I was a simpleton. "Just like people that are willing to donate their blood for medical causes. Only instead of a cookie, I give them bliss. And then I send them home to their families."

My head swam. "That's not…"

"Not what?" she replied sharply. "Not what they taught you? Not what you were told about us?" She crossed her arms in front of her again, holding herself tight. "I'm not going to defend the race, Harry. I'm not going to tell you that there aren't some fucked up monsters among my peers. But could you say the same about anyone? Humans? The Sidhe? _Wizards?_ "

Seeing that I was at a loss for words, she continued. "Harry, there are _so_ _many_ people out there that are hurting, that are _starving_. Some for food, because of last summer." Stab. "Some for attention. For purpose. For companionship."

"And you give that to them?" I asked, unable to understand what she was saying.

"For a time, yes," she replied. "And no, it's not altruistic. I get something out of it, too. But doesn't everyone, when they're making an exchange for goods?"

"But… but you don't _have_ to…" I insisted. "The Shroud—"

"May work. Or maybe it wouldn't," she said. "Either way, I don't want it. I _like_ having the power I have, Harry," she said, her eyes alight with something I recalled from our time together. A sense of purpose, a sense of worth. "You have no idea what it was like living on the edge of the supernatural world, hearing about these incredible things, these horrible things, and being powerless against it." Her voice softened. "You have no idea how powerless I felt that night."

I swallowed. "I do, actually."

For all my vaunted strength, for all my power, I'd been helpless when Bianca's people had caught me. Poisoned by my own hand, my power diminished by breaking my own vow, I'd been at their mercy as they'd fallen on me. Tortured me. Tried to feed on me.

I hated them for that. For that night. For the things they'd done, to me, and to Susan. I did a lot of suppressing from that experience, but it was always there, a burning rage at the thought of Bianca and her people continuing to breath, taking joy in having brought a mighty wizard so low.

"I know," I assured her.

"Then please understand," she said softly. "Understand that I have _power_ now. Strength. Speed. Authority." When I looked up, she gave me a soft smile. "You didn't really think I'd be content being Bianca's lap dog, did you?"

"No," I replied honestly. "I suppose not."

"I've been rising in their ranks, Harry," she said. "And you know what? There are others like me. Others that see there can be a balance between the hunger and the humanity. An equilibrium that can be met with the willing."

"You're making the same argument Marcone would," I said bitterly. "That you're simply providing what the consumer wants."

"Is that so wrong?" she asked. "But there's a difference. What he's selling will destroy his customers. What I'm giving them won't."

"If you think you aren't harming them, harming their minds and spirits—"

" _Pieces_ , Harry," Susan said. "If we feed too deeply, yes, we can harm them. Permanently. But with the number of people we have coming to us, we don't have to do that. We don't _have_ to kill."

I ran a hand over my face, trying to understand this world Susan was describing. A world unlike the one I'd always known. "But you've killed."

"Once," she said, very softly. "Only once. And not a day goes by that I don't mourn that."

"But if you regret it—"

"I can regret the necessity," she said. "But that doesn't mean that I'd change the past, even if I could. I've accepted what I am. And what I am is someone that's affecting change. Someone that's _doing_ something."

"But they're not all like you," I said. "Most of them kill."

"Yes," she said, her eyes softening. "The elders of the Court didn't live in a society like ours. Their world was much harsher. And they brought that into their new lives."

"New life," I said, a bitter laugh escaping.

"In a way, yes," she replied. "And the younger vampires are like me. We grew up in modern society, and haven't forgotten what that's like."

"And you think you can change them," I said. "Change the Red Court."

"Maybe. Maybe not," she replied with a shrug. "But I can't fight what I am. If I did, it'd slowly drive me mad. Until one day I lost control, and then I'd become the monster you fear."

Her words chilled me more than the air ever could.

"I've accepted my fate, Harry," she said with tenderness. She took a step closer, rising up to her toes to lay a kiss on my cheek. "You have to do the same."

I wasn't sure if she was talking about me accepting her fate, or accepting mine. Either way, I watched her step back, before heading for the car she and Ortega had arrived in. I watched her go, the world seeming to shift beneath my feet as I did.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

The car slowly departed from the parking lot, leaving me alone with my own personal devil.

"I take it your business is concluded?" Nicodemus asked as I approached. He stood up from where he'd been casually leaning against the car, his tan trench coat flapping in the cold wind.

"Yeah," I replied dully. "I suppose so."

"Excellent," the man replied, his smile spreading. "You know, that was another impressive display back there."

It took me a moment to realize he was talking about the duel, and not Susan's ability to twist me in the wind. "Yeah, right."

"I have to say, your handling of the affair was quite satisfactory," the demon continued, his wry smile pleasant. "It's so rare to work with professionals these days."

"I'm just wishing we'd broadcast it after all," I replied.

"Oh?" Nicodemus said, his head tilting curiously.

"Sure," I said. "Once the media gets a hold of something like that, it's bound to spread like wildfire. It might deter others from trying something similar."

A thoughtful look crossed over Nicodemus's face. "You know, you have a point." His smile returned. "Now, if you'd be so kind as to hand over the Shroud…"

I nodded. "I will."

Nicodemus waited expectantly. When I wasn't forthcoming, his smile lessened. "Tonight, please, Mr. Dresden."

"No," I replied with a slight shake of my head. "You misunderstand me."

"Oh?" he replied, his voice going as flat as his eyes. The shadow behind him shifted, widening despite no change in the light.

"I'll deliver the Shroud to Father Vincent," I informed him.

"We have a deal, Mr. Dresden," Nicodemus said darkly. His head tilted down slightly, narrowing his gaze even further. "You swore on your power to give me the Shroud."

"And I'm breaking my word," I told him, even as I knew doing so would most likely cost me my power.

Magic stemmed from life, yes, but it also was based on your faith in it. It wasn't quite the same as religious belief, but it required just as much from you. It was like a bargain between you and the forces of reality, one that allowed you to manipulate the world around you.

When you broke your word, it weakened your sense of self, as well as your bond with the world. When you did it knowingly like I was, it was nothing short of sabotage. Of magical suicide, if you will.

But I'd be damned, literally and figuratively, if I was going to give the Shroud over to a Fallen fucking angel.

"I see," Nicodemus said, surprisingly calm in the face of my refusal. "So be it."

I looked up to him, careful not to linger too long on his eyes. That was one soul I _definitely_ did not want to see. "That's it? You're willing to just let it go?"

"Oh, hardly not," Nicodemus replied with a gentle shrug. "It just means I'll have to use other means."

As the man spoke, he reached out to rap a knuckle on the tinted glass of the limo. The window cracked open an inch or so. Not enough to reveal the person inside, but enough to let Nicodemus speak to them.

"It seems we'll be needing the insurance after all."

I looked between the man and the vehicle, as alarm bells started ringing in my head. "What?"

"Insurance, Mr. Dresden," Nicodemus replied, his face returning to its passive indifference as the far passenger door opened. "To ensure you do the right thing."

I looked across the roof of the car as Deirdre emerged, her dark hair hanging loosely about her head. There was a superior sneer on her lips as she stepped out, before tugging at someone still inside.

It took me only a moment to recognize the good father underneath all of his bruises.

"Son of a bitch," I snarled, my head snapping back around to Nicodemus.

"Now, now, Mr. Dresden," Nicodemus cautioned me, one hand patting the air gently. "No need for any dramatics. I'm simply giving you an opportunity to deliver the Shroud to that man, just like you said you would."

My jaw was clenched so tight my teeth began to hurt. "Let him go."

"I will," Nicodemus replied with a smile. " _After_ you've given him the Shroud."

"Only to let you take it?" I spat.

"What he does with it after you deliver it is none of your concern," Nicodemus replied.

A yelp from across the way drew my eyes back, and I saw that Deirdre was holding Vincent by the back of his neck. His face was bruised and battered, as were the hands that he held aloft in a placating manner. "Please, Mr. Dresden…"

The air temperature dropped around us as my temper flared.

"I would reconsider doing anything rash, Harry," Nicodemus said. "As fast as you are, you can't stop Deirdre from snapping his neck." He turned to his daughter. "Oh, what about the other one?"

Deirdre's crooked smile widened as she wagged her eyebrows at me mockingly. My attention instead was on a lock of her hair that suddenly shifted, the black strands becoming a dark metallic silver as they transformed. The metal tendrils dipped beneath my line of sight, presumably heading into the car.

When they eventually came out, they were coiled around a metal bird cage.

Trapped inside was Lenten, one of the dew drop fairies that served in my household Guard. The little fae was bound up inside the cage, his hands and feet tied tight while a piece of cloth gagged his mouth. Thankfully they'd put some newspaper on the bottom, or the metal bars there would have been burning the little guy.

As soon as he saw me, the fairy started pointing at Vincent. His urgent shouting was muffled by the gag, but it was clear something had him upset. After pointing at the man, Lenten raised his arms above his head and started wriggling. I wasn't sure what he was trying to say, but I guessed that he was the member of the Guard that had been sent to watch Vincent.

"Let him go," I hissed. Frost started covering the top of the car as I turned back to Nicodemus.

"Ah-ah," the man said, his tone warning. A cry across the way drew my eyes back, and I saw where some of the metal strands had released the cage and wrapped around Father Vincent's neck. I could see where they were tightening, his flesh bulging around the supernatural wires.

"Alright, alright," I said bitterly, releasing the power I'd been unconsciously drawing in. "I'll get the damn Shroud. But you better let both of them go. _Alive_ ," I added.

"You have my word," the demon said with a smile.

With no other options available, I sent a trickle of power into the ring I wore. _Luna_.

 _Yes my lord_ , came the instant reply.

 _Bring me the cannister_ , I told her.

There was only the briefest hesitation. _Of course_.

"It's on its way," I assured Nicodemus, who's smile grew.

"See? That wasn't so hard," he replied.

For once, I didn't say anything. Nicodemus had me outmaneuvered, and petty quips weren't going to change matters.

I should have suspected he'd do something like this. I _had_ , for that matter. I'd even warned Vincent that he might be in danger. But I'd thought putting a member of the Guard on him would be all that was needed. Lenten was a good choice, and I was surprised he'd let anyone get the better of him.

The fairy was still doing his little jig, pointing and gyrating at Vincent. I frowned as he undulated, practically doing the moonwalk as he made his entire body slither.

Before I could figure it out, the flutter of a dozen wings announced the arrival of the Guard. Six of them carried the same tube that had contained the Shroud back at the hotel. They alighted upon the roof, which was still cold from the power leak that had covered it in frost.

"Excellent," Nicodemus said, his grin widening as his shadow danced.

"Alright, you have it. Let them go," I snapped.

"As soon as I've verified the contents," Nicodemus said, twisting the end of the tube off to slide the package out.

The Shroud was still wrapped in the plastic the Churchmice had put it in. I'd been careful when handling it, afraid of exposing myself directly to it. But even through the covering, you could feel the thrum of its power, the fabric practically alive with all things good.

Nicodemus could feel it as he handled the package, his eyes burning with victory. "Just as I'd hoped," he said, drawing the package out.

"Let them go," I repeated. The six fairies on the roof, Lacuna among them, were all standing at the ready, their tiny hands clutching the hilts of their swords. Lacuna was looking at Lenten, who was now trying to relay his message to her.

"Of course," Nicodemus said, turning to me with a generous grin. "But first, let me fulfill your promise for you."

Surprising me, the man tossed the Shroud to Vincent, who flinched as he caught the package in his bruised hands. I blinked in surprise as the father looked at the Shroud.

"There," Nicodemus said. "Now you've kept your word to both of us." He winked at me. "Wouldn't want you sacrificing your power. Not when it's so potent."

His words confused me, as did the fact that Vincent didn't take off running as soon as Deirdre's tendrils released his neck. He was staring at the Shroud, too busy to realize he could run.

"Get out of here," I hissed at him. "Leave it and go. They'll kill you."

"Kill him?" Nicodemus said, sounding offended as he looked back and forth between us. "Why would I kill him?"

I looked at him in alarm, and then back to Vincent, just as the good father looked up to me.

When he did, a second pair of glowing eyes appeared on his forehead.

And now Lenten's serpentine gestures made sense.

It seemed Father Vincent was no longer with us.

"Son of a—" I began, drawing in power as fast as I could. My left hand rose toward Nicodemus, not the ideal choice for channeling offensive power, but my other hand was heading toward the Denarian posing as Vincent.

An instant before I unleashed hell on the demons, a pain bit into my ankle. I gasped as my power fled, even as my vision swam.

Glancing down, I could just make out the metallic tendrils of hair that had slithered under the limo. The coils had worked their way toward me, unseen beneath the vehicle, before striking out and piercing my flesh.

As soon as that metal cut me, the power of the Winter Knight was gone.

However the Denarians transformed, it was a true transformation. The metal wriggling its way beneath my skin felt like pure iron, and as such, sapped the strength from the Sidhe mantle I bore. While the touch of metal alone would burn a fae, it required something more to affect me.

It seemed Nicodemus was are of that.

I grabbed for the edge of the vehicle as I tried to clear my head. The touch of iron beneath my skin was more than debilitating, but I'd practiced dealing with it for just that reason. I couldn't afford to have such a weakness when facing the things I fought.

The first time metal had pierced my hide, I'd passed out from the pain. In time I'd gotten better, maintaining consciousness long enough to remove the intruding iron, or even cast a spell with my own magic.

I was trying to do just that when Nicodemus reached out and snapped something around my wrist. More pain shot through me as I tried to pull my arm away, but found my body sluggish. I drew on my magic to—

—and a cold, searing pain coursed through my being as the thorned manacle sank its steel prongs into my skin.

I collapsed to the ground as the pain overwhelmed me. It was all I could do to remain conscious, much less try and stand. Fighting was out of the equation, as the manacle sapped me of my magic.

"I believe you are familiar with these, yes?" Nicodemus said with a rueful smile. "I'm afraid such things are of a necessity when dealing with someone of your power. I might not have bothered, if it weren't for you being the Winter Knight. But alas…"

My mind tried to focus on the metal on my wrist. I indeed knew about thorned manacles, although I'd never seen a set made of steel before. They usually came in the form of an enchanted twisted vine, sporting actual thorns that were crafted to sap power from you when you tried to draw on magic. I wasn't sure exactly how they worked, but they seemed to shunt the power you drew to somewhere else, while causing a lot of agonizing pain in the process.

It complicated matters that the steel barbs also interfered with the Winter Knight mantle, which was helpless as the metal dug into my flesh.

While I was flopping on the ground, trying to understand just when things had gone so horribly wrong, Nicodemus stepped over me. I could make out noises all around us, and caught sight of what looked like a strobe light party swirling overhead.

It took me a moment to realize that the Guard was putting up a fight for me. Numbering only six, unless they'd managed to get Lenten out, the small fae didn't stand a chance against the Denarians.

But they fought anyways, and died for their efforts.

Deirdre's hair flicked through the air, slashing at the fairies. They were wearing their armor, but it wasn't enough to stop all of the strands swirling around them. I saw an amethyst light fade as a body fell to the ground, one of the iron hairs striking in-between the gaps in the fae's armor.

I tried to rise, but did little more than shake and seize as the manacle shut me down. I looked around, hoping to find something I could use to fight back. But there was nothing in reach. My rods were useless without power. There was nothing that could help me or the Guard, who was dealing not only with Deirdre's steel hair, but Nicodemus's shadow as well.

As my head hit the sidewalk, my eyes fell on two figures headed our way. It was hard to make them out, what with a bright light shining from the sword one of them held. I caught a flash of short blond hair and desperately blue eyes before Nicodemus snapped the second thorned manacle around my other wrist.

And then there was nothing but pain and darkness.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

A long time passed before my eyes opened inside a dark place.

It was a barren place, one shrouded in darkness even in the best of times. The concrete floor was cold beneath me. I found myself sprawled across it, the pain almost too much to bear.

A shaft of bright light illuminated a circular area not far from me. Somehow I managed to pull myself up, doing my best to ignore the pain I felt.

It wasn't even real. Not where I was, at any rate.

I dragged myself into the circle of light, across the frozen concrete, just as another form stepped into view across the way.

I looked up at the tall, lean form of myself.

"You look pitiful," my other self said, crossing his arms as he frowned down at me.

"Bite me," I replied, my teeth chattering as I tried to sit up.

"Now I _know_ you're off your game, if that's the best you can do," he replied with a roll of his eyes.

I just celebrated the small victory of successfully pulling myself into a sitting position. Once I was settled, I looked up that the stark form standing in front of me, so much like me, and yet different.

He had the same hair, same features. We were one in the same, saving for the fact that he looked healthy and whole, while I looked like something someone had run through a meat grinder.

Normally we were dressed fairly similarly. When I'd spoken to my inner self before, I'd noted that his fashion sense was a little better than mine, assuming you liked the dark wizard look. He sported a black leather duster like I wore, although somehow it was still nicer than the one Susan had bought for me ages ago. The rest of his outfit was a monochrome black, but consisted of finer materials and cuts than I tended to bother with.

His body was fuller than mine, more muscled. I didn't recall that being the case before, but it'd been a while. He was certainly healthier, although his skin looked paler than mine around his own well-trimmed beard.

In comparison, I was a wreck. I was nude, which was a first for our visits in the space in my head. I was also sporting a vast network of cuts and bruises all across my body. Thin red lines marked the slashes someone had carved into me, while twin puncture wounds pock-marked my skin everywhere. Each was swollen and filled with puss, as the venom of two dozen snake bites worked its way through my veins.

"It looks like the Denarians have been having fun," my dopple-ganger said, his dark brow furrowing as he looked me over.

"Yeah, they're real assholes," I said as I spat out some blood onto the floor. It was cold enough to freeze after just a moment, but I was hurting too much for the cold to really bother me.

"You should have finished Deirdre off when you had the chance," the other Harry said, his voice filled with disappointment.

I thought back on my first encounter with the steel-haired Denarian. "Her iceberg had drifted too far by the time I'd confirmed I didn't have the Shroud."

"An excuse," the other me replied. "You could have sent her to the bottom."

"Fuck off," I spat as I started to rise. "Like I said, I'm full up on assholes right now. I certainly don't need another one."

"What you need to do is wake up," he retorted.

"I think I've been awake for enough so far, thanks."

The Denarians had been working me over for hours. I didn't recall anything from the parking lot beyond the second manacle being placed on my wrist. If I was right, and it _had_ been Murphy and Shiro running up, then they hadn't arrived in time. When I'd awoken, it'd been to find myself hanging beneath an open sewer pipe that was gushing ice-cold water over my body.

The thorned manacles had still been around my wrists, cutting me off from both the mantle and my own power. Any slim chance I had of working my way around the manacles to summon up some of the latter was eliminated by the flowing water, which disrupted the flow of magic even on a good day.

Of course, it wasn't a good day. It hadn't been the water that'd woken me. It'd been the bite of the snake that had latched itself onto my leg.

It seemed Cassius hadn't quite forgiven me for the punishment I'd meted out back at the hotel. That's who I assumed the short, dark-skinned man was that was hissing out spells as the snake bit at me again and again.

He'd only quit when Deirdre arrived, finding him midway through his Guantanamo session. She'd chastised him with feigned disappointment, before using one of her steel hairs to cut at the snake.

She missed. Her swipe wasn't shallow, and it'd left a gouge in my leg.

They'd both left, only to have the man return a short time later and resume his efforts. Then she'd return, take a futile swipe at his snake, take her ounce of blood, and then they'd depart. Rinse and repeat. Over and over. Torture followed by a tortuous rescue, again and again, with the running water making each fresh cut burn all the worse while each bite wound throbbed.

As far as I could tell, it'd been hours, and neither had grown bored with it.

I, on the other hand, had apparently resorted to escaping to my head-space, where my double, the part of me that considered himself my Id, could antagonize me for being the fool that I was.

"True," my double conceded. "But that's not the awakening I was referring to."

"Well, why don't you spit it out then," I grumbled as I rose, slowly, each movement causing the agony in my muscles to grow. "As bad as you are, it's better than what's going on out there."

"We wouldn't _be_ in this situation if you just wised up," the other me snapped. "When are you going to stop playing around and realize that this, _all_ of this," he said, gesturing at the darkness, but I assumed he meant the predicament I found myself in, "could be avoided if you just accepted what we are."

"And what's that?" I spat, figuratively, before following it up with the literal. "A hopeless romantic just looking for a nice girl to settle down with?"

"No," my double said quietly. "We are the Winter Knight."

Something shifted in the darkness around us, drawing my head around in a hurry. It was an odd sort of sound, a broken sort of sound. A cross between a brisk wind and a wheezing breath.

"What is that?" I asked, turning to face the darkness rather than myself. Assuming that's not too symbolic or anything.

"You know what it is," my double said, his voice growing tired. "You've spent enough time fighting it to know."

My eyes locked on something in the darkness. "The mantle."

"Yes."

The thing I was looking at was indistinguishable from the darkness, but I knew it was there all the same. It'd been there ever since Mother Winter had stuck her gnarly old fingers into my chest and bestowed the mantle upon me. Turning me into a monster of her making.

"No," the double said. "We're not a monster."

"Not yet," I replied, my eyes shifting as the shape in the shadows moved about, its joints popping and creaking like two glaciers grinding together. I couldn't see much of it, but I got the impression of something almost humanoid. It shuffled along as if each movement came at a cost.

I could relate.

"Not now, not ever," the other me insisted. I turned back to him, finding his stare firm and confident. "It will never make us anything we're not already."

"Says you."

"Says _us_ ," the other me growled out in frustration. "We're one and the same, you idiot."

"Says you."

My double ran a hand over his face, trying to collect his thoughts rather than snapping at me like I knew he wanted to. "The mantle is just a tool. A source of power that we can use."

"It's a dark, twisted slice of evil is what it is," I replied. "And I'd be a fool to accept it."

"You already _did!_ " Dapper me shouted. "You _are_ the _Winter Knight!_ Why does everyone realize that but _you?!_ "

"Because everyone else assumes the worst in me," I shot back. "But I still don't. I haven't given up on _me._ "

"You don't _have_ to," my double argued. "You can still be you, just different."

"That's not being me," I replied. "That's changing. Letting the mantle mold me into the monster it wants."

"No," the other me started, before reconsidering. "Yes, it's change. But you know what? That's _life_."

I frowned, but my double continued. "Life is about change. You don't leave this world the same thing that came in. The world shapes you. Your actions shape you. Your _decisions_ shape you." He gestured at the darkness. "But in the end, _that_ _'_ _s_ not in control of what you become. _You_ are."

I studied me for a moment, before looking back into the dark where the mantle ground through the shadows. "You're saying that I should accept what I've become, and move on."

"Yes," the other me said. "But that doesn't mean becoming a monster. It just means becoming a new you. A new _us_."

My lip curled up in a doubtful smirk. "And how am I supposed to trust you? You've wanted this all along."

"Wanted what?" my double asked. "The mantle?"

"The power," I replied, turning to face him. "That's all you've ever wanted."

"That's all _we_ _'_ _ve_ ever wanted," he said in reply, his voice soft. "It's what you bargained with Lea for, isn't it?"

My mind flashed back, to another time I'd been desperate enough to accept a gift from one of the Sidhe. After my former master, my second father, had turned on me. Had sent a monster after me that had almost ended me. I'd asked for the power necessary to do what needed to be done.

I hadn't actually gotten power then. Just the awakening I'd needed to face the monster of my youth. Just the first of many to come, as it turned out.

"That was different," I argued. "I wanted the power to help Elaine." That'd been back before I'd known that she'd betray me. Before she'd turned me over to Justin, allowing him to try and break my mind.

"No, it's not," my double said. "Power is power. It's the person wielding it, the purpose behind it, that's good or bad."

"The mantle is not _good_ ," I insisted, trying to make him understand.

"Of course it's not," he replied. "It was created by the Unseelie. It was forged as a weapon to kill and maim."

"And you want me to accept it?" I asked in disbelief. "To let it shape me?"

"No. I want _you_ to shape _it_ ," my double said firmly. "I want _us_ to shape it into a more useful tool. One that we can use as we see fit."

"That's impossible."

"Is it?" my double asked, an eyebrow arching high. "We've already changed it. Even without trying, we've given it shape."

As the other me looked to the darkness, the form shuffled closer. It didn't enter the light, but enough illumination reached into the dark to reveal the vague outline of an icy face. Dark, black ice looked out at me, its eyes a cobalt blue as they stared into the light.

It was a face that was all too familiar.

"No," I said, backing away. "No."

"Yes," my double insisted. "You know I'm telling you the truth. Because _I_ am you."

The form flinched backward as another spasm rocked through it. The mantle receded into the dark, where its wispy breaths grew faint.

"You should have seen it when it first arrived," my inner self said softly. "It was more beastly back then; the Wolf of Winter. Mindless, reasonless. But like everything, it changes," my double said pointedly. "It's like an automaton, learning as it goes. Reflecting its host. Being shaped not just by _its_ purpose, but _ours_."

"What's wrong with it?" I asked, curious despite myself.

"It's the manacles," the other me replied, still looking toward the mantle. "They're hurting it, in a way. Suppressing it." My double's eyes narrowed. "Just like you have, only worse."

"Like _I_ have?" I asked, turning to him. "What are you talking about?"

"You think bearing the mantle has been hard on you?" my double asked, giving me a disappointed look. "It's been _hell_ in here. That thing has been trying to help, and every time it does, you shove it away."

"Because it goes too far."

"No, it's not," the other me said with a shake of his head. "The only reason you're losing control is because we are — quite literally — of two minds about this."

I blinked at that. "Hah."

"Not a joke," he insisted, his expression grim. "You've been so worried about letting the mantle control you that you've been shoving it away. And me along with it. We're further apart than we've ever been."

"How is that possible?" I asked.

My double looked almost sad. "Because you're in denial. About a lot of things," he said. "You've been blaming yourself for everything. For Susan. For the weather. For the state of the world." His eyes met mine. "For the child."

I turned away. "That wasn't my fault."

"Yes it was, and you know it." My double stepped forward. "It was _our_ fault, for taking in the Nightmare's power without understanding what it was."

"And now you're telling me to take in _more power?_ " I asked, my voice breaking. "We took in a little bit of darkness, and look what it did! And you want _more?!_ "

"We didn't know what we were doing then," the other me said in a low voice. "And if we'd had any time to think on it, we would have found a way to deal with it."

"Letting more darkness in isn't going to make things better!" I told me. "'A bad tree cannot bear good fruit'!"

"Don't quote the Bible to me," my double snapped. "And don't be infantile. You know perfectly well that's a simplification."

"I know that the power I've already taken in has done nothing but cause pain and suffering."

"Because of you!" the other me shouted. "Because you're not _dealing_ with it, just like you're not dealing with _anything!_ "

"You don't know what you're talking about," I snapped.

"No?" he growled. "Ever since that night at Bianca's, you've been running. Running from the blame. Running from the guilt. Running from your responsibilities."

"What responsibilities?" I asked. I was fairly sure I knew what he was talking about with the other two.

"Bianca. Marcone. This _city_ ," he said, gesturing around again. "You didn't kill Bianca when you should have, and it's allowed her to increase her control. She's brought in more and more resources, and is slowly gaining ground against Marcone. And you _know_ he's been brutal in return, and not just against Bianca's people. Those old gangs he beat down back in the day smell weakness, and have been challenging his authority. Not to mention the Streetwolves.

"You heard Murphy in the morgue," he continued. "She saw an eviscerated body, and what did she say?" he asked, his head tilting in mock inquiry. "She _barely flinched_. Because things have gotten so bad that decapitated corpses are almost _commonplace_."

"Things aren't that bad."

"Yes, they are," he replied, his voice hot. "The world has gone to shit, largely because of _us_. Because _we_ failed to stop Aurora." He pointed out into the distance. "The planet is on the brink of self-destruction because we failed. Because _we_ didn't do what needed to be _done_. If they don't have a good crop season this year, a whole lot of people are going to die."

" _And what do you want me to do?!_ " I screamed, my fury bubbling up. " _I did what I could! I did the best I_ _ **could!**_ "

The ice on the floor cracked as I unleashed my rage at the only person deserving of it.

Myself.

"I _tried_ to stop her! But I couldn't do it! Is that what you want to hear?! That I fucked up, broke the world, and brought on an ice age that's killed how many thousands?! I can't pass a fucking newspaper stand without seeing the headlines! Without seeing the pictures of the starving kids! The mourning people that lost loved ones in the wars! _All because I fucked up!_ "

I don't remember crossing the space between us. I don't remember seizing him by his jacket, or shaking him. I don't remember laying into him, my bruised and aching knuckles striking him again and again. It was all his fault. My fault. Our fault.

Everything was our fault.

"No," he whispered, his head above me. I couldn't recall when my assault had turned into a desperate plea, as I collapsed into his arms and started sobbing. "It's not. We share the blame; we share the responsibility. But it's like Sía said. We can't control others. We can't control everything." The other me gripped my shoulder. "We can't save everyone."

"I did the best I could," I whispered through my tears.

"I know," he replied. "But it wasn't the best _we_ could do."

I pulled away, looking at him in shock. "No. We did. We—"

" _We_ could have stopped her,"he said. "But we were too busy fighting over right and wrong, too busy fighting over who was in charge."

"No. I let the mantle go when we fought Aurora," I insisted. "I let it take control."

"You let _me_ take control," the other me said. "The mantle has _never_ been in control. It's always been you or me. And it can't work like that. I can't control it alone; I need you, just like you need me. We have to do it together."

I sniffling laugh escaped my lips. "What would Freud say to that?"

The other me's lip curled ruefully. "What would he say to any of this?"

"Good point."

"Do you recall the calm you felt after the fight at the hotel?" my double asked. I nodded. "That was you. Just you." I looked at him in surprise. "I was too busy wrestling down the mantle, restraining myself, after the outburst in the hotel."

"Was that what happened?" I asked.

My double nodded. "That's the way its been for months now. One or the other of us taking control. Very rarely working together." His head tilted to one side. "Well, until the duel."

I nodded. "I guess I was of one mind about that."

"We were," he agreed with a nod. "And look what we did? We had more power than we've ever had before, and we didn't lose control."

I blinked again, realizing he was right.

" _That_ _'_ _s_ what the mantle offers us," he whispered. "The power we need to do things. Good things. Things that need doing."

"But it's evil," I insisted by rote.

"Like Susan is evil?" he countered. When I failed to respond, he pressed on. "You heard her outside of the arena. How's she dealing with what she's become. Accepting her fate, and using it to _do_ something."

"Assuming she wasn't lying."

"Assuming that," he conceded. "But did it feel like she was lying?"

I shook my head. "No."

My double nodded as well. "She's accepted what she is. She's accepted the power that comes with it, and the responsibility to do something with that power."

"Careful," I warned him with a weak smile. "Stan Lee might sue."

"You know I'm right," he said. "Because I'm you. You're me." He turned to look into the shadows. "And together, we can control this. We can use it to do some good. Make our corner of the world a better place."

I hesitated. "We'll also have to do bad things," I said softly. "The Queens have seen to that."

"Yes," he said. "That will happen no matter what we do. Whether it's us or the next sap they choose to be the Winter Knight, bad things are going to happen. That's the world we live in. But if _we_ _'_ _re_ in control, _we_ _'_ _ll_ decide how things play out. And maybe some good fruit can come of it."

I stared at the other me, my head dizzy.

At least part of what he was saying was true. There in the recesses of my mind, I could admit that to myself. I'd known it all along, even if I'd persisted in a desperate state of denial.

I _was_ the Winter Knight.

He was right; there was no escaping that. Not yet, at least. I still harbored a hope that I could find a way out from beneath the Sidhe's yoke. To gain my freedom, while not sacrificing the protection I needed from the Council.

After becoming the Winter Knight, I'd looked into some of its history. Some of the people that had wielded it in the past. Most were monsters. Some were less so, but only by varying degrees. And the one thing they all had in common was that they died in the service of the Sidhe.

All save one.

The story of Tam Lin was the one thing that kept my hopes alive. But even that was little more than a pipe dream; I'd managed to confirm that the man of legend had indeed been the Winter Knight, but I'd been unable to determine if the stories were true.

Had he really escaped the Sidhe? Had he found a way out?

After months of searching, of investigating every lead I could find, I was no closer to the truth.

One thing I did know was that I couldn't continue on as I had.

The other me was right; this inner conflict had been tearing me apart. I freely admitted that the mantle terrified me. Using it for simple things, for veils and such, wasn't that dangerous. But when it came to tapping its true potential, I tended to give myself over to it; to let it rule my actions and thoughts, as if doing so separated me from the guilt.

But that was nothing more than a lie. It was still me doing those things. Just a different part of me, half of a whole.

I could recall one of the lessons my former master had taught me. Eb had never been eloquent, to say the least. "If you're going to do something, don't do it half-assed." Direct and to the point, that one.

But that's what I'd been doing. Lying to myself about who I was, what I was. Which had only caused problems. The episode in the hotel hadn't been the first time I'd lost control with the mantle; it'd only been the worst timed failure. One that had endangered those I had once called friends.

I was right. Something needed to change.

I inhaled sharply as I looked into the darkness.

I looked for a long time.

No matter how long I waited, it wouldn't change the truth. The mantle was still there, still waiting. Just like it would always be, until it either drove me mad or killed me. Assuming talking to myself wasn't an indication of the former already occurring.

No, to try and continue on unchanging would kill me. Unless I did something I thought I would never do. Something that had seemed unthinkable.

But perhaps it was time. Time to embrace the truth.

I was the Winter Knight.

"You really think we can do this?"

"I know we can. So do you," he said. "But you can't bottle everything up. You can't pretend the past didn't happen, or that you might be able to change it somehow. It's done and gone. Now we have to pick up the pieces as well as we can." He looked me in the eye. "Together."

He walked toward the edge of the shadows, and I slowly joined him. The form in the darkness shifted, drawing closer. It was still vague, still only barely humanoid. But as it shuffled forward, the outline of the familiar face was easier to see.

I extended my hand toward the darkness, my upraised palm slipping into the shadows. The thing waiting within them mirrored me, its own frozen limb extending forward, reaching slightly into the light. Our palms hovered inches from each other, the cold of its icy flesh chilling me even as the heat from my hand warmed it.

Perhaps the other me was right. The mantle was no living thing bent on twisting me; it was just power given purpose. The evil was already in _me_. I'd been fighting it ever since I was a child.

If that were the case, then it was a battle I'd already won countless times. One that I knew I could win again and again. Because I wouldn't allow myself to become a monster.

The mantle itself was just a tool, to be shaped and wielded by its bearer. It was something cold, but not cruel. Something dark, but not void of light.

Maybe that's what I had to be. The world was a dark place now. Maybe to survive in this world of grays, I needed to be something different. Something of the dark and of the light.

Not good. Not evil. But a bit of both.

Terrified, I took the step, just as it did the same. The step that brought us together. Neither of us was pulled to the other. We simply met along that line between shadow and light, balanced precariously between the two.

Not good. Not evil.

Something of both.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

My eyes blinked open as the stream of water overhead lessened.

"Is that better?" Nicodemus asked, a soft frown creasing his forehead as he looked me over.

"Yeah," I replied ruoghly, doing my best to ignore the ache in my shoulders. I wasn't sure they'd ever work properly again, after having spent hours hanging in that dark tunnel. "Yeah, that's great. But maybe you could have room service come by with something to eat?"

"I'm afraid that's unlikely," the demon replied.

"Well, you can expect a bad score on my survey," I assured him.

"That's unfortunate."

Somehow I managed to lift my head up into the trickling stream still coming down from the pipe. Moving hurt, but it was better than the alternative.

A glance confirmed that the manacles were still in place. I suppose it should have been alarming that I couldn't feel them, but I blamed that on the numbness from the cold water rather than anything else.

"I apologize for Cassius's indulgences," Nicodemus said as he stepped away. "I did not think he would go to such extremes."

"Yeah," I said wryly. "Who would have guessed the guy would be such a snake?"

Nicodemus offered me a slight smile as he settled onto a folding chair that had been placed in the room. It hadn't been there before, so I assumed he'd brought it with him. Or maybe one of the lackeys standing in the doorway had. Beside it stood a small table with a large bowl sitting atop it.

The rest of the place was barren, save for a collection of pipes and pools. It looked to be some sort of drain-off section of the sewers, and I desperately didn't want to find out where the water was coming from.

"You've been out for quite some time," Nicodemus said as he settled back. "I was beginning to worry that you wouldn't come around in time."

"Sorry. I had some things to work through." When his head cocked curiously to the side, I did my best to shrug, failing miserably. "When did Snake Boy replace Father Vincent?"

"Actually, you never met the good father," Nicodemus said lightly. "It was Cassius all along."

"I figured," I replied, spitting out a mouthful of water. I'd tried to take a sip to see if it would refresh me, but it tasted metallic and rancid. "I think I saw what's left of Vincent in the morgue."

"Ah. Then it's good we took some precautions," he replied. "Or the game would have been up much sooner."

"You had Cassius pose as both LaRouche and Vincent. Doubling your chances again that you'd get the Shroud," I said. "Gotta say, I didn't see the second one coming. Even when I knew of the first."

"As I said before, at the meeting," Nicodemus said with a smile. "You have no idea what lengths I went to to obtain the Shroud. The gangster even thinks it was his idea to have it stolen."

That was an interesting revelation. "How did he find them, by the way?" I asked, honestly curious. "Back at the hotel, Cassius located the Churchmice before any of us."

Nicodemus quirked an eyebrow. "Why, he did the same thing he thought you were going to do. He used the threads to track it."

"Oh," I said, stifling a groan. The threads I'd requested Vincent acquire from the Church. But by the time he'd received them, I already had Garcia's blood.

"He was quite upset, you know," Nicodemus confessed. "After using the threads Vincent had brought with him, it never occurred to Cassius to contact the Vatican as the good father to ask for more to be sent."

I blinked at what he said, perhaps unknowingly. "What'd he use the other threads for?"

Nicodemus opened his mouth to speak, only to draw up short. His eyes narrowed as he smiled. "I see. This is where I tell you my plan, assured that there's no way you could possible escape."

"Well obviously," I said, waiting expectantly. "So are you going to tell me?"

"I'll let that be a surprise," the man replied with a knowing smile.

My mind worked furiously, trying to figure out something to slow things down. "Why go through all of this for that raggedy old cloth?" I asked, deciding to try and throw the man off. "It's quite obviously a fake."

To my surprise, Nicodemus nodded along with my ruse. "I'm surprised you could tell. But nonetheless, this one will be more than suitable."

Rather than reveal my ignorance on the subject, I pressed on. "Suitable for what? Don't get me wrong, but you don't seem like the type to really use things like that."

"Things like what?" he asked, curious.

"Good things. Pure things," I clarified. "Forgive me for saying it, but I think you're on the wrong frequency."

"Ah. Well, that is where you are wrong," the man said, his arms waving up in a dismissive gesture. "But you will understand eventually."

"So am I going to find out soon?" I asked, looking around the room. "Because for someone that went through a great deal of trouble to get the damned thing, you aren't doing much with it."

"Oh, it's being prepared," Nicodemus said. "As for when you will know… how do they say it? You'll find out 'in this life or the next'?" His smile went flat. "I'd bet on the latter."

My eyes widened. "I thought we had a deal."

"We did," he replied innocently. "Which you reneged on."

"You got the Shroud," I replied.

"And you got a second for your duel," Nicodemus replied. "Now we've moved on to bigger and better things."

"How about we split the difference?" I asked. "I felt the power in the Shroud; there's enough to split multiple ways. Hell, we could probably even give Marcone a piece to keep him appeased."

My words seemed to give Nicodemus pause, and for a moment I thought he was actually considering it. "What an interesting idea," he said. But then he simply shook his head. "I'm sorry, Harry. But I'll be needing it."

"Okay. If you want to be that way." My eyes narrowed. "So what do you need me for?" I asked.

Nicodemus blinked. "What makes you think I don't plan on killing you for trying to betray me?"

"I'm sure that's _a_ reason," I replied. "But not _the_ reason. If you wanted me to suffer, you would have let Cassius continue having his fun."

Nicodemus's smile grew. "I'm impressed, Harry."

"Thanks, Nick," I replied.

"Let us just say that I'm in need of someone with a certain level of metaphysical weight," Nicodemus said.

I managed to look down at my nude form. "Aw, geez, Nick. Don't say that. You know I'm sensitive about my girlish figure."

Nicodemus just rolled his eyes. "You were simply unfortunate enough to be in the wrong place at the right time."

"I blame daylight savings time."

That drew a fresh smile from the man. "You know, I wish things had gone differently," Nicodemus said, sounding like he meant it. "I actually hoped we'd come to an arrangement of some sort. I'm always in need of good men."

I glanced toward the goons at the door, both of whom were stoically ignoring our conversation. "Looks like you've got plenty."

"Oh, they're good in their way," Nicodemus said dismissively. "But they're not much for bantering."

"Why's that?"

Nicodemus smiled. "Because I had their tongues removed."

My face twisted up. "Yeah, I don't think I'll be accepting any employment offers anytime soon."

"I know," he replied sadly. "Alas, you are correct. I _do_ need you for something other than petty revenge." Nicodemus stood. "Unfortunately for you, it's going to require a bit more than you're going to want to give."

I looked down at my nude self. "Honestly, Nick, you've already taken just about everything I have. I don't know what else I can give you."

As I looked up, it was to find Nicodemus picking up the bowl. His other hand slipped into his jacket and withdrew a knife. "Oh, I'm sure you'll think of something."

I tried moving under the stream of water, but all that did was make my arms hurt even more. Next I tried drawing on the mantle, but it was nowhere to be found. The steel thorns in my wrists were more than enough to keep it suppressed, along with my own power.

That didn't stop me from trying to draw on it. But the agonizing lances of pain that shot through me as the manacles did their work well enough to keep me from trying a second time.

"Don't struggle," Nicodemus said, his voice growing dispassionate as a distant look came over his face. "I'd rather not ruin this suit."

"You come any closer and I'll strangle you with that fucking tie," I growled out, shaking under the water as I tried desperately to do something.

To my surprise, my words actually gave his pause. Something flickered across his face, something resembling alarm. But then the expression fled as quickly as it'd arrived, leaving him cold and determined. "Perhaps I'll take your tongue after all."

The finality of his words were the most chilling thing as he stepped closer. Some part of me thought I should be able to simply kick him away, but I was feeling entirely too weak to lift even one leg. I tried anyway, and managed to flail a knee in his general direction before he reached out to steady me.

"Don't make this difficult," he muttered, sounding disappointed that I'd resist until my last breath.

Just to ruin his day, I continued to both breath _and_ resist. It didn't take him long to realize that I still had enough fight in me to make it impossible for him to cut me and hold the bowl in place. With a frustrated hiss, he summoned the two guards over. "Take him down and hold him still."

The two giants made easy work of the first task, although my height made me awkward to hold. That, and they seemed squeamish to have naked ol' me rubbing on them, as they both tried to keep me at arms length.

So as Nicodemus stepped forward, I used that to my advantage. With a burst of energy that surprised all four of us, I pulled away from the two goons, the slick water on my skin making it all but impossible for them to regain their grip.

Despite my amazing second wind, I didn't have the strength to stand on my own. So instead of making a run for it, I ended up toppling forward onto Nicodemus, who was caught unprepared as nearly seven feet of naked man flesh just plopped down on him.

As I fell, I followed through on my promise. Before he realized what was happening, my numb fingers closed on the noose.

Unfortunately, I didn't have the strength to tighten it myself. Thankfully the two goons were there to help. As they grabbed my shoulders and pulled me up, the noose slipped tighter around Nicodemus's neck.

It never got quite snug, but his eyes bulged out in near panic all the same.

I had just a moment to wonder at his reaction. I mean, this was a guy that I'd seen shrug off bullets back in the hotel. But he was worried about being strangled by a ratty old rope?

Unfortunately, the moment passed, as something wrapped around my own neck and squeezed, causing me to gasp in pain and surprise. My grip on the tie slipped away, and then I was wrenched up into the air. I made a gurgling noise, my throat constricted by whatever had me in its grip. I tried looking around, but there was nothing to see. The guards had both fallen back, their heads lowered in some form of bow.

That's when I realized that it was Nicodemus's shadow holding me aloft while simultaneously choking the life out of me.

"Very well," the man gasped, his voice and face livid. "I'll do it myself." After he loosened the tie, he reached for the bowl and knife, both of which he'd dropped in the excitement. Left dangling, there was nothing I could do to stop him.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" I choked out, the pain of being jerked up by the shadows almost enough to make me pass out again. But I knew if I did, I'd never wake up. "No matter what she thinks of me personally, I doubt Mab will let you just kill a member of her court."

That gave Nicodemus only the slightest pause. "You do have a point," he confessed, the knife blade tapping the edge of the bowl as he considered it. "But I suspect she's more interested in your blood than you yourself. Perhaps if I allowed her to kill you, we could both get what we want."

"My blood?" I croaked, confused. Maybe my brain wasn't working quite right, on account of no oxygen reaching it.

"No matter," Nicodemus said with a shrug. "It will take some time to prepare the ritual. If you die before I can hand you over, I'll simply have to part with a favor owed."

What the hell was he talking about? I tried to understand, but it's not easy to think about anything other than breathing when you're being choked to death. I watched as he approached, knife and bowl in hand. The shadows holding me reared up, leaving me fully extended and dangling over the man. "Hey, wait!"

Struggling against the shadows wasn't really an option. Not with the thorned manacles still cutting me off from my power. But I tried anyway, even as Nicodemus lifted the knife.

There was an alarmed shout, and it took me a moment to realize it wasn't mine. Nicodemus and I both looked to the closed door, which burst open to allow a steel-haired Denarian through.

"Father!" Deirdre shouted, even as her transformation rolled across her form. She was wearing a kimono of some sort, which didn't really go with her bright metallic skin all that well. Her hair, growing longer and more deadly by the moment, weaved about as a pair of glowing eyes fixed upon Nicodemus. "The Jap!"

A frustrated hiss escaped Nicodemus's lips as his shadow writhed. Seeing as I was being held aloft by those same shadows, it shouldn't have been too surprising when I found myself flung across the room. But it still caught me off-guard as I tumbled through the stream of water and over to the far wall, which I bounced off of like a medicine ball. Which is to say I landed in a heavy heap at the base.

"The guards?" Nicodemus asked, even as I watched several men run past the gaping doorway. Shouts and gunfire erupted in unison, and flashes of bright light shone back across the hallway wall.

There was something about those flashes that Nicodemus's shadow didn't like, because it swelled up behind the man as he stepped backward, the knife now clutched tight in his hand as if it were the only defense he had.

A moment later, the light in the hall shifted again, before shining into the room as the small Knight of the Cross arrived, his Sword gleaming in his grasp.

"Nicodemus," the short man said, his eyes fixed on the devil in our midst.

"Kill him," Nicodemus said softly.

As he did, the two guards I'd all but forgotten lurched forward from the back of the room, the guns clearing their holsters as they took aim at the Knight.

For his part, Shiro did little more than take on a grim visage as he sped into motion. He didn't move supernaturally fast, which almost everyone seemed to nowadays. Instead, he moved with inhuman precision, somehow side-stepping a bullet that ricocheted precariously around the room. The Sword whisked up and around, a one-handed swipe that sliced two inches off the barrel closest to him.

The attack was well-timed and well-executed. As the upward swing curved back down toward the second gun rising toward him, Shiro's other hand twisted toward the first guard. The wooden sheath he used as a cane struck the guard's temple in just the right place to send him crumpling to the ground just as the other gun was destroyed.

Before the second guard could do anything with his now broken weapon, the charging form of Deirdre shoved him forward, using him as a human shield as she advanced on the Knight. Shiro somehow saw it coming, perhaps expecting such tactics of the Denarians. He managed to not impale the guard with the katana, and instead ducked low and allowed him to tumble over his back.

As the Knight rose up beneath the helpless guard, his sword swung up at the steel blades of hair swooping toward him. The shining weapon sheered through them as if they were nothing more than ribbons, and the Denarian howled as the Knight stepped inside of her reach. Discarding the sheath, the man grabbed at one of her shoulders and spun her, using a well-timed hip check to keep her off-balance until he was suddenly behind her, his sword at her throat.

The guard that'd toppled over him reached for the discarded wooden sheath, as if to pummel the man from behind. But the sound of a cocking gun made him freeze.

"I'll take that," Karrin Murphy said from the doorway, slowly reaching around the man from behind as she kept her service pistol planted firmly at the base of his neck. When he stiffened, Murphy jammed the gun further into his flesh, her voice hardening as she did. "Don't even think about it."

Nicodemus watched from only a few paces away as the detective reclaimed the sheath. His eyes drifted from her squat form to that of the man holding his daughter hostage. "The wizard is mine," Nicodemus said. "By his own free will, he chose to involve himself in matters."

"Yes," Shiro said simply, his eyes never leaving Nicodemus. While his voice was calm, there was a tension to his shoulders. In a flash, I recalled the icicle that had been buried in his shoulder the last I'd seen him.

"You have no claim," Nicodemus continued, his eyes playing over the Knight. Maybe he sensed his pain, as he seemed content to draw out the moment. "You cannot take him."

The short man seemed to consider that. "Then we trade."

The man with the living shadow laughed. "The wizard for my daughter? I think not. I have plans for Dresden."

"Damn," Murphy said, her eyes widening slightly. "Are you seriously willing to let your daughter die?"

"I know, right?" I sputtered from the floor, while doing everything I could to stay awake. "He likes me. He _really_ likes me."

"Somehow I doubt that," Murphy replied, shooting a frown in my general direction.

"Hey."

"Nicodemus values nothing over himself," Shiro said softly. "Not even his own blood."

"Then why bother with this charade," Nicodemus said quietly, not seeming to take any delight in our exchange. Neither did Deirdre for that matter, but she kept still with the shining blade at her throat.

"I know you well enough to know her life has no meaning to you," the Knight replied. "But when I spoke of a trade for Dresden, I was not referring to your daughter."

The room froze.

"Wait…" I said, somehow lifting my head despite the pain to look at the man as I realized what he was implying. "Don't—"

Nicodemus's shadow slammed into me from the side, causing my head to bounce off the wall. The room spun, and for once I shut up, if only to concentrate on breathing.

"Interesting," the Denarian said, a slight smile creeping in at the corners of his mouth. "But you know that is not enough."

"I will not give you the Sword," the Knight said solemnly with a shake of his head.

"Fine," Nicodemus replied readily enough. "Then your word alone. That you will not try to escape. That you will not summon aid, and you will not release yourself quietly."

"And let you keep me for years?" Shiro replied, all but tsking disappointedly at the ancient demon. "No. But I will give you this day. No more."

Nicodemus's smile grew. "Very well. Until nightfall, shall we say?"

Shiro nodded. "Agreed. Now let him go."

The Denarian looked in my direction, and gestured with his head. I took it to be his permission to go, but that wasn't going to be enough to get my legs moving. Not with my head still ringing from two impacts with the wall, on top of everything else.

A soft grunt sounded from the front of the room, and I managed to turn to see the guard slumping to the ground from the blow Murphy had landed on the back of his neck. The tiny woman then sidled around the Knight and the Denarian he held, Deirdre's four eyes watching helplessly as the detective moved to help me up.

"No," I mumbled, my tongue thick in my mouth. "Don't let him do this."

"Quiet, Harry," Murphy whispered. "Not now."

"No," I repeated, trying to make her understand. But with my head still spinning, I couldn't come up with the words to convince her that this was a horrible idea. Still, I did my best. "S'bad."

"He knows what he's doing," Murphy hissed as she dragged me past the others. It must have been a sight, given our massively contrasting sizes. But somehow she got me to the doorway, which she propped me against as she turned back to the Knight.

Shiro began to back toward us, which made Nicodemus's eyes narrow. "You gave your word."

"I did," Shiro replied. "You know the value of mine. Just as I know the value of yours." He nodded toward me. "The keys to his restraints."

"I'd rather not," Nicodemus said, the barest of smiles creeping in at the corners of his mouth as he spared me a glance. "No sense in tempting fate."

Shiro didn't seem to like that, but with only so much time to broker a deal before more of Nicodemus's lackeys arrived, he didn't have a choice in the matter. "Very well."

The man began to edge backwards, keeping the shining sword close to Deirdre's neck. The thin blade would have no problem sheering through her metal skin just as it had cut her hairs, and she knew it. The girl backed up with him, not daring to risk being sliced open from ear to ear.

Part of me wanted to stumble closer, to try cutting the manacles on the bright blade. With my wrists free, I could summon up the power necessary to even the odds. Maybe get all of us out of there.

But that would put me in reach of Deirdre's hairs, and for all I knew, she could ensnare me before Shiro could cut her throat. And then we'd be in a stalemate.

"Don't do this," I managed to whisper to him. "They're going to kill you."

"Yes."

His calm response irritated me. "They won't be quick about it."

The man turned and cast a gentle smile in my direction. "No. I imagine not."

My head swam as I tried to push myself upright, but the steel piercing my wrists was causing havoc with my senses. If I could have gotten them off, maybe I could have done something. But the locks on them were no joke, and the rest was solid steel.

I tried twisting my wrists, to see if there was any trace of the mantle's strength still in my limbs. But all that did was sink the thorns further into my flesh, causing me to sway as I barely held on to consciousness. The only reason I didn't collapse was because Murphy reached out a steadying hand.

Despite all my power, I was powerless to stop what was happening.

Murphy nudge me out into the hallway, where I leaned against a wall. I noted the limp forms of several more guards sprawling across the dark passage, which looked to be constructed of the same stonework of the chamber. We were definitely underground, and I didn't see an exit anywhere nearby.

"Go," Murphy said from beside me. Shiro had all but blocked the doorway with his slight form, but enough of the light from his sword shone through to illuminate the bright blue of Murphy's eyes as she turned to me. "Get a head start."

"I—" I began.

"Not now, Dresden," she growled out, her temper flaring as she turned her focus back to the room. "We're going to have to run, and I can't carry you."

Knowing she was right, and hating her for it, I pushed myself along the wall. I could hear Shiro speaking behind me, buying us more time, but I couldn't make out what he was saying as I moved further into the dark tunnel. It was a slow, humiliating stumble toward freedom, one that almost ended several times over as my balance wavered.

For each jostle of my hands, the thorns would bite harder, making my head spin. That'd make me stumble again, resulting in an endless cycle of pain and nausea.

Somehow I got down the hallway. I was almost at a steel door when violence erupted behind me. I turned partway around, just in time to see Murphy starting my way. The Sword of the Cross and its cane sheath were in one hand while her service pistol was raised in the other, pointing back toward the doorway I'd just vacated. The light from the Sword had been extinguished, while bursts of illumination appeared at the muzzle of the gun as she fired.

The door had been slammed shut, presumably by Shiro after he passed the Sword to Murphy. But figures further down the hall had appeared, more goons baring modern weaponry that would cut us down in a hurry. I saw Murphy open fire at them, her cop instincts making sure she fired warning shots before taking deadly aim.

The thugs offered no such courtesies, their automatic weapons raking toward us with all the precision of Imperial Stormtroopers. Only Murphy's slight stature spared her from being pin-cushioned by bullets as she crouched down and returned earnest fire.

When the others' weapons grew silent, Murphy turned and ran, heading my way. I pushed off the wall, grateful that they'd concentrated their aim on her rather than me. I don't think I could have ducked to save my life.

By the time Murphy reached me, I was moving, albeit slowly. We both continued on as a furious, kettle-like scream erupted behind us as the room's door burst open to reveal the metallic form of Deirdre.

"Faster, Dresden," Murphy hissed as she fired back at the demonic woman. Her magazine ran empty all too quickly, and Murphy tucked the gun away and seized me by the arm to encourage me along.

We were a step away from the steel door when the short woman put her judo skills to use. Despite our disparate weights and heights, Murphy somehow managed to hip check me while twisting my shoulder forward. The maneuver resulted in me being flung to the floor, draped halfway across the door-frame.

My vision wavered again, and I thought for sure I'd lose consciousness. But the sudden appearance of a blinding light somehow managed to cut through the pain and agony of the manacles, and I blinked away tears to look up as Deirdre checked her advance in the light of the Sword of the Cross.

The Sword that Karrin Murphy held before her as she stood between me and the demon.

Deirdre screamed again, that same oddly modulating sound that sounded somewhere between a tea kettle and an old train horn as her breath burst up her throat. Two sets of glowing eyes were staring at the shining Sword, her visage twisted in a mixture of disbelief and dismay.

"Just try it," Murphy whispered softly, holding the weapon as if she knew what she was doing. Which, with her martial arts training, she most assuredly did.

Deirdre just hissed in reply, but kept her distance. It was an odd tableau, as the light from the Sword reflected off the wavering blades of hair seeking out an opportunity.

When she was sure Deirdre wouldn't advance, Murphy addressed me, although her eyes didn't leave the demon. "Move, Harry."

"Mgmgh," I mumbled as I tried to obey. The fall had taken a lot out of me, but after a moment I managed to pull my way through the doorway. Murphy backed up as I did, leaving the discarded cane sheath behind on the floor.

Deirdre lay in wait, her fierce eyes flinching at the light of the Sword. She took a tentative step forward as Murphy reached for the door, but quickly retreated when Murphy made it clear with a short swipe that she was more than capable of dispensing some well-needed justice with just a one-handed grip.

The demon hissed again as the door's hinges creaked, before the slight lieutenant slammed it shut between us and the Denarian.

A solid thump hit the door as soon as it was closed, threating to pop it open again as Murphy leaned into it. A steel tendril worked its way into the crack, but a quick slash of the glowing Sword cut through the hair as if it were nothing more than protein filament.

The door slammed shut again, and then Murphy was drawing her spent weapon. I wasn't sure what she planned on doing with that until I saw that the slide was back, exposing a short length of the round barrel.

There was a latch that looked like it was designed for a padlock, but the barrel worked well enough as she jammed it home. The door rattled as Deirdre slammed into it again from the other side, a dent appearing in the surface as she did. My eyes widened as I watched the handgun, fearing that the movement might have been enough to jostle the slide back down, which would likely push the gun out of place.

But the make-shift lock held, and then Murphy had turned to me, grabbing at my shoulder as she got me on my feet.

"Thanks," I told her as I did my part to right myself, in more than one sense.

Murphy shot me a quick glance, her eyes hard to see in the dark space. The light from the Sword had been extinguished moments after she'd turned away from the door, but I thought there was a smidgen of surprise to her look. "Sure," she said shortly. "Can you walk?"

"Like a newborn," I assured her as I stumbled forward, my shoulder dragging along one wall.

"This way," she said, taking me by one arm. She kept the sword ready in her other hand, and cast more than one glance back as we retreated, the steel door rattling in its frame.

She led me along a weaving path through the tunnels, one that I couldn't hope to have kept track of as we shuffled about. I noticed Murphy checked a crudely drawn map several times, and wondered at its origin, until we finally reached a metal ladder leading up to a manhole. I glanced at it in dismay, and shot her a pleading look.

"Don't whine to me," she replied as she looked back down the tunnel, where things had grown disconcertingly quiet. "I'm the one that's got to deal with your junk wagging about in my face."

Considering the differences in our heights, she wasn't that far from the truth. "No peaking while I try to climb up," I grumbled, trying to figure out the easiest way to climb a ladder with manacled hands and weak legs. "Normally I make a girl buy me dinner before they get to see all of this."

"I'm trying to figure out a way to unsee it," Murphy muttered. "Get your skinny ass moving. They might know another way around."

"Yeah, yeah," I said as I started to pull myself up. "Been a while since you've seen a guy naked, hasn't it?" One of my feet slipped a little as blood trickled over my heel from one of my wounds.

"After this I'm going to need more therapy before I can see another one," she shot back. " _Move_."

I did, albeit slowly. After a short eternity, I managed to pull myself up the ladder and out onto the surface of the street, which looked to be an alley. A swirl of light made my eyes hurt, and I eventually focused my gaze on the small form hovering in front of me.

"I am sorry, my lord!" Lacuna gushed, her normally pale face all but stone white as she bowed deeply. "I would have come with them into the tunnels, but they requested I watch the exit!"

"S'alright," I replied gruffly as I sprawled across the pavement. I noted the weak light of dawn along the edges of the buildings around us, and realized the Denarians had kept me all night.

"I provided them with the map to your location," Lacuna explained, clearly upset with her failure to rescue me herself. "After our loses last night, I knew that the Guard could not retrieve you on our own."

"You did good," I assured her as Murphy popped up the ladder with ease. As soon as she was clear, she put the sword aside and dragged the heavy manhole cover back into place. I would have helped, but wasn't sure I could stand on my own, much less move that much steel.

"I have failed as your Major-General," Lacuna continued, her voice filled with shame and dismay. "I offer my life as compensation." She drew the steel sword she wore on one hip and offered it to me. It wasn't much bigger than a plastic toy sword, but it was sharp and deadly. Especially to her.

"What? No," I groaned as I tried to rise. I pretended to not be embarrassed that I needed Murphy's help. "It's not your fault."

"It is," she insisted. "I didn't see the danger. I allowed you to be captured. I—"

"Not now," Murphy grumbled as she pulled me toward a car parked further up the alley. It took me a moment to recognize it as her old sedan. "Let's get out of here first."

"Right," I said, gasping as a stumble sent dizzying pain into my veins. When we got to the car, I managed to prop myself on its side while Murphy opened the back door. Between the two of us, we got me in and draped over the back seat, and then she was scrambling for the front.

Lacuna settled onto the seat beside me, her small face looming large in my vision as Murphy started the car and sped out of the alley. "Are you sure?"

"Shh," I said tiredly, the adrenaline of the escape already fading. "We'll discuss it later."

I saw the tiny fairy nod grimly, even as the car turned around a corner at speed. I shifted, as did the manacles, and the agonizing pain reared its head again.

Out of immediate danger, I gave up on fighting it, and the world faded away as I let the pain embrace me.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

I don't remember anything of the ride, or of being carried out of the car. Nor did I recall anything of my initial medical treatments. There was nothing, not even dreams or delusions of an inner self, until the first of the two manacles popped free of my wrist.

I gasped as I awoke, the sudden departure of the steel shocking me more violently out of my comatose slumber more than an alarm ever could. My body lurched on its own, kicking off the heavy wool blanket that'd been draped over my lower half as I reflexively tried to stave off a non-existent attack. I glanced about in surprise, my mind struggling to understand where I was, and who was with me.

"Whoa there," Murphy said, putting a hand on one shoulder and pushing me back down onto the cot. There was a surprising strength to her slight form, thanks to her years of judo and assorted martial arts. Not enough to keep me down if I resisted, but enough to persuade me to relax. Which I tried to do, as she tugged the blanket back into place.

"Seriously," said another voice, one faintly familiar and filled with youthful snark. "Don't go waiving that thing around again. You're libel to poke someone's eye out."

I blinked away the mental fog to focus on the young girl crouching beside the cot. As my eyes started making sense of things, I noted the blond hair framing a pretty face and startling blue eyes. She was wearing a pair of sweats and a Star Wars top that featured R2. There was a blush to the girl's cheeks as she leaned forward again, having retreated as I'd awoken.

"Molly?" I asked in surprise when I recognized her. "Molly Carpenter?"

"The one and only," the girl replied as she stood to step around to the other side of the cot. Once she reached my side, she settled back down to her knees and reached for my wrist.

I'd met Molly years earlier when I'd first started working with Michael. The eldest of his kids, she'd been nothing more than a runt at the time. She was still young, maybe thirteen or fourteen years old, but was already beginning to fill out. Given time, she'd probably be a stunner liker her mom. But hopefully of better temperament.

"What are… where am I?" I asked, looking around in bewilderment. I could see sunlight filtering in through one of the windows. It'd lost that early morning shading, and I figured a few hours might have passed since we'd made our escape.

"We're at the Carpenters," Murphy replied, even as Molly started fiddling with the lock on the other manacle.

As she said it, I finally recognized the inside of Michael's workshop. It wasn't much more than a large shed in his back yard, where he kept his tools. "Why here?"

Murphy settled onto a camp chair close at hand, one she'd probably just vacated as I'd awoken. "When we were planning your rescue, Shiro told me to bring you here." She smiled ruefully. "I think he knew what was going to happen all along."

I grunted softly at that, not wanting to think about what the man was probably going through. I knew all too well.

"Anyway," Murphy continued. "He figured the Denarians would have worked you over."

"Apparently they're in to the torture thing," I confirmed.

"Shiro thought as much," Murphy continued. "I told him taking you to a hospital wouldn't end well. But he said that Michael or Charity could take care of any injuries."

Molly snorted at that. "As if."

I looked down at my chest, which had indeed been cleaned and bandaged. "Looks like they did alright."

"That was dad," Molly corrected me as she frowned down at the manacle. "Mom refused to help."

"Ah," I said, laying my head back on the cot. But it was only for a second, before I turned back to Murphy. "Wait, I thought Michael was in holding after the hotel thing?"

"He was," she replied tiredly. "But we started the paperwork to get him released yesterday, and he was freed first thing this morning. No easy thing, for a weekend," she added with a shrug. "When he got here, he helped with your wounds, before he and Sanya went to see if they could find Shiro."

My head spun again, possibly from trying to follow her words, or possibly because the girl fiddling with the thorned manacle had jostled its barbs deeper into my skin. "Careful," I cautioned her as politely as I could through clenched teeth.

"Sorry."

"When we arrived, Charity refused to help," Murphy continued. "Refused to let you in the house, even."

"That's understandable," I replied as I rested my head back again. "After all, I got one of her kids killed."

The girl working at my wrist froze, but I didn't spare a glance to see what her reaction was. I saw Murphy tense in the chair.

"What?" she asked, shocked.

It took me a moment to work up the courage to speak. "You remember the Nightmare?" I asked, before inwardly flinching as the woman blanched. Of course she remembered it. It had invaded her mind and trapped her in a psychological horror for days. Way to be sensitive, Harry.

When she slowly nodded, I continued. "When I took it out, I didn't do a good enough job. Its power lingered. It's… hold, on Charity, and… and you, was left intact because of it." After a moment, I added, "I'm sorry."

Murphy sat back, her brittle posture still tenuous but somewhat more stable as she considered my words. "I see."

We sat there in silence for a minute, until Molly finally resumed her efforts. She did so carefully, for which I was grateful.

"Anyway," Murphy finally said, shaking her head as if to rid it of dark memories. "She refused to help, but Molly came down and said we could set up shop in the shed." She cast a look at the girl. "I don't think Charity approved."

The girl snorted again. Based on her skill, it was something she probably practiced often, most likely at the expense of her mother. "That's understating it." Her blue eyes shot to me quickly before averting their gaze. " _Especially_ when she saw us dragging you out of the car, wizard staff and all."

I groaned audibly as the girl's words brought a slight smile to Murphy's lips. "When Michael arrived, he bandaged you up and brought you out some of his clothes."

I nodded. "He and Sanya went back to the sewers?"

Murphy nodded grimly. "Haven't heard back yet, but my hopes aren't high. They likely moved out of there as soon as they realized we'd escaped."

I figured she was right. "I can't believe he did that."

To my surprise, Murphy's soft smile returned. "You know, I'm not." When I looked to her, she shrugged. "We spent a day together, and it was enough to know him. He came to me yesterday morning, after everything at the hotel. Told me all about what was going on."

"Oh."

"That's when I started on the paperwork for the others," she continued. "I offered to help Shiro, and we spent the day trying to track down those… those things."

"The Denarians," I informed her.

"I know what they are," she said softly. "I know all about the Churchmice, and the Shroud, and the auction. I know you got away with the Shroud, and then delivered it to Nicodemus."

The last was said without judgment, but I still felt like I had to defend myself. "I wasn't going to. But they had Father Vincent." I grimaced. "Well, I thought they did."

"Vincent was dead," she said, surprising me with her knowledge. At my look, she explained, "Shiro and I spoke with Garcia and Father Forthill. When I was getting Shiro up to speed, Forthill overheard me explaining about the body in the morgue, and the tattoo. Apparently the two go way back. Both of them have one."

"Damn," I whispered, wishing I'd known that. Wishing I'd followed up more on the body. But with everything else going on, it'd slipped under the radar.

"We saw your showdown," Murphy said. "When Vincent came out of the limo, Shiro knew something was up. We tried to get to you, but…"

"It's okay," I told her with chagrin. "I just wish—"

My words cut off as the second lock was sprung, and the steel manacles slipped from my flesh with a wet sucking noise. As soon as they did, I gasped in relief, even as a surge of cold power coursed through me.

The mantle was restored.

When I held my wrists up, a somewhat familiar set of wounds adorned each, albeit much worse than I'd expected. Sure, I'd worn thorned manacles before, but they'd done nothing more than leave small scars that had somewhat faded in time.

The wound from steel manacles piercing the flesh of the Winter Knight was something else entirely.

There were numerous puncture wounds in both wrists from where the thorns had cut into me. Each was blackened, as if the metal itself had been hot enough to burn. Beneath the sooty edges were pink puckering lacerations, some of which were already brimming with fresh scarlet blood and pale puss.

If left open, they'd leave some more nasty scars on my already pockmarked body.

But then again, having someone sew them shut with a steel needle didn't sound all that helpful either.

"Thanks," I managed to gasp out as I looked to Molly, who was holding the manacles up, her face twisted in disgust. A shiver went through her as she studied them.

"No problem," she replied with a weak grin. "Sorry I didn't have a key for these."

"Why would you?" I asked, blinking.

The girl's eyes flickered briefly to the cop. "Let's just say I would have been a lot quicker if they'd been fun-time cuffs, or even bad-time cuffs." She frowned as she held the manacles up and moved them to the floor beside her. "Don't have much to help with wizard-torture cuffs."

I glanced at Murphy, mouthing, "Fun-time cuffs?"

"I think you're both a little young for fun-time cuffs," Murphy said, holding her hands up. "And I don't want to know any more, seeing as I'm still a cop."

"Right. Probably best," Molly said with a sharp nod of her head, before glancing toward the front of the shed when a car door slammed shut. It was quickly followed by another. "That's probably dad. I'll go give him an update." She turned back to me as she stood. "Just give me a ring if you need help with anything like this again."

"You mean the next time I find myself bloodied, naked and cuffed?" I asked with a bemused smile.

The girl's eyes sparkled around her wink. "Two out of three aren't bad." And then she was gone.

As the door shut behind her, I heard Murphy snort derisively. "Little young, Dresden."

"What?" I said, startled. "I wasn't… She's like twelve."

"Fourteen," Murphy replied quickly, to my surprise. When she saw my puzzled look, she misinterpreted its cause. "Old enough to be impressed by a tall, dark idiot."

"I don't think I'm impressing anyone, lying here bleeding out like a stuck pig," I replied wryly.

"Maybe, maybe not," Murphy said. "But she _did_ go back in to change into a smaller, tighter shirt."

I opened my mouth, but couldn't think of anything to say, so I closed it again.

The woman seemed amused by my confusion, but the look faded as we both turned back to the door. It opened to reveal the large and looming form of Michael Carpenter, who's face was set into a grim mask as he entered.

When he saw me awake, the look softened. "Harry."

"Michael," I said, somewhat thickly. Despite the assurances Lacuna had provided, I'd worried that he'd suffered more lasting damage after the fight in the hotel. But from appearances, he only looked as worn and tired as Murphy did. Between the three of us, I was by far the worst off.

"Too late?" Murphy asked, noting the man's mood. Michael nodded.

"I'm sorry," I said, unable to relay just how much so with words alone. I tried to rise, but Michael stepped forward as he looked down at the wounds on my wrists.

"I'll need to dress those," he said, heading for a medical kit.

I wanted to tell him not to worry about it. That ever since I'd become the Winter Knight, injuries tended to heal faster and cleaner. Nothing incredible, mind you, but I didn't think tetanus was going to be the thing to take me out.

But I let him dress the wounds all the same. Because sometimes it's not about the medicine. Sometimes it's about the human touch. The contact with a friend that would not hesitate to help you, even when you'd insulted and injured him in your last two encounters. A friend that hadn't given up on you even when you'd sold your soul to the first devil that offered salvation.

After cleaning the wounds, he surprised me by applying something to help seal the holes shut. When I asked, he said it was something called Dermabond, a heavy duty liquid adhesive used to close wounds when stitches weren't an option. Apparently he'd used it once or twice over the years.

Once the adhesive was on, he wrapped both wrists in bandages, to help keep the glue undisturbed. He was gentle and caring, and by the time he was done, I was almost in tears. Thankfully he assumed they must be from pain, as he offered me some aspirin, which I gratefully accepted.

My eyes fell to the bloody rags and red-stained manacles. "Michael…"

"I'll dispose of it properly," he assured me as he gathered up everything that had my blood on it. Only the blanket remained, the one still pretending to offer me some dignity.

As Michael cleaned his gear in a sink to one side, I tossed aside the blanket and made for the loaner clothes set to one side.

"Jesus, Dresden," Murphy said, averting her eyes as a slight blush appeared on her cheeks.

Michael made a tutting sound, but didn't lay into her like he would have if I'd used the Lord's name in vain. "I think we're a little beyond coy glances, Murph," I said as I pulled on the pants. It was harder than I cared to admit, given that my body was still aching from my night hanging out with the Denarians.

But I had the sneaking suspicion that they'd already dosed me with painkiller while I was still out, as the pain wasn't as bad as it should have been. I managed to get the pants on all by myself, which really should have garnered a round of applause. Instead, the other two just seemed relieved.

Once those were on Murphy turned back, her eyes trailing over the bandages on my chest, torso and arms where Deirdre and Cassius had had their fun.

There were strips of adhesive bandages all across my body, presumably covering more of that liquid stitch stuff. The venom from Cassius's snake bites had disappeared as soon as the man had stopped manifesting them, but the punctures had remained, as had Deirdre's deeper-than-necessary cuts.

I pulled on Michael's spare shirt, finding the thing a little baggy and short in the sleeves. But it'd do for the the moment.

Once I was dressed, Murphy seemed to be able to take me seriously again. "What's the plan?"

"Plan?" I asked as I adjusted the long-sleeve shirt. I could make a tent with all of the extra fabric where Michael's muscles had stretched it out. "There's no plan."

Murphy looked up at me, a frown spreading across her face. "You plan on letting them get away with the Shroud?"

"Hell no," I assured her. "But I'm fresh out of plans. I'd settle for an idea."

"We must find them, and recover the Shroud," Michael said from the sink. Because it was just that simple for him. Stupid Knights of the Cross and their inherent luck. He probably thought a passerby was going to mention the nefarious man wearing a noose he'd seen just around the corner. Because sometimes that's how it worked for them.

"I don't think your bosses are working overtime to help us," I told him, which drew his gaze around. "Unless you're feeling like going for a walk in a certain direction?"

The Knights of the Cross had no power of their own, but that didn't mean they were powerless. From what I'd seen, they tended to get put into the right place at the right time to help when help was most needed. Which meant Michael usually counted on nothing more than faith to guide him to where he needed to be.

But as far as I could tell, no-one On High was helping us out. With Shiro captured, they were already down a Knight, and the bad guys had the Shroud. Things weren't looking good for Team Heaven.

"Maybe we should compare notes?" Murphy asked. "Maybe we can figure out what they're doing?"

"Oh, I know what they're doing," I assured her. When she looked to me in surprise, I explained. "When I asked Nick how Cassius found the Churchmice, he said he used the threads I'd requested. Apparently Cassius was put out that he hadn't thought of having more threads delivered to 'Father Vincent'."

" _More_ threads?" the detective asked, picking up on things quickly.

"Yup," I confirmed with a nod. "It seems the original Vincent had some threads with him, but Nick said Cassius had, 'already used them'." I provided tentative air-quotes.

Murphy's nose squished up at that. "What does that mean?"

"The only reason he couldn't have used the original threads to track the Shroud was if their nature had drastically changed," I said softly. "He must have done something with them that corrupted them, made them incompatible with the rest of the Shroud."

Murphy and Michael shared a look, neither one picking up on it.

"The plague curse," I explained, looking to her.

Her eyes widened. "You're talking about the body in the morgue. Vincent's body."

I nodded. "It took some serious power to conjure up those diseases he was infected with. _Serious_ power, the kind that most practitioners don't have."

"You're saying he used pieces of the Shroud to inflict harm?" Michael asked, sounding offended at the idea.

"It's got a reputation for healing magic," I informed them. "But I think Cassius somehow managed to turn it on its head; used it to inflict harm rather than heal."

Michael's face hardened. "Such blasphemy is in line with Nicodemus's methods. He's using the Shroud for evil, just as he wields the Barabbas Curse."

"The what?" I asked, not recognizing the name.

"It's a powerful curse tied to the noose he wears," Michael explained grimly. "When the Romans condemned men to die, they would offer the Jews the power to choose one prisoner to be pardoned and given life. It is said they chose a man named Barabbas, rather than the Savior."

"How's that fit in?" Murphy asked.

"Just as they could spare one life, the noose allows Nicodemus to mandate a death that cannot be avoided," Michael said. His eyes met mine. "We believed that he would cast it upon you; to ensure your death, as the prophecy foretold."

"Damn," I muttered. "That noose has some serious mojo."

Michael nodded. "The Church's records are incomplete, but we know some things. Including that the noose is incredibly powerful. So long as he bears it, he apparently cannot die."

Murphy whistled at that. For my part, I wondered.

"Wait," I said after a moment as another thought struck me. "So if he cursed me or whatever, am I still in danger?"

"No," Michael said with a quick shake of his head. "We cannot stop the curse, but we Knights can take the place of its subject, if we choose to." A sad look crossed his face, one that I didn't miss. "Shiro chose to."

My throat thickened, as I recalled the man in the tunnel that had given his life to free me. A man that I'd had no kind words for when we'd met, and yet had still made the ultimate sacrifice for a man willing to make deals with devils.

"Damnit," I whispered, shaking my head to will away the tears. Damn pain and all that.

"What's done is done," Murphy said, eying me. "And we don't know for sure that he's dead yet. We just need to find Nicodemus and the others, and maybe we can still get him back."

There was more hope in her voice than I would have dared to feel, and it was enough to convince me. I nodded. "Right. The Shroud. If I'm right, they'll use the Shroud for the plague curse, only it'll be infinitely worse than it was with just a few threads."

"How much worse?" Murphy asked, her brow furrowing.

"It could wipe out Chicago," I said grimly. "I don't know how long it'll last, but even if its just a single night, it'll be disastrous to the city. Perhaps the state, even."

"Could they have already finished?" Michael asked as he crossed himself.

"I don't think so," I told him. "Despite Nick's supposed protests over my treatment, I got the impression that Cassius and Deirdre were working me over with a purpose. I think they were using my pain to prepare for the curse. They might have to start over now that… now that they're using Shiro."

The other two paled at the thought of Shiro suffering at the hands of the Denarians. "Lord preserve," Michael said, crossing himself again.

"Lets hope someone's listening," I muttered helpfully. "But the good news is that we have time."

"How much?" Murphy asked. "It's been hours since we rescued you."

"I think we've got time yet," I said, glancing toward the window. "Dark magic doesn't have to be performed at night, but there's a reason it often is. A metaphysical one." I looked to Murphy. "And Nicodemus made a point of ensuring that Shiro wouldn't try to escape before nightfall. I think that was intentional."

The detective nodded, a hope sparking in her eyes. "Then we can still get to him."

"Maybe," I said, trying to not smother her hope. "But we're going to need a miracle. Because even if we know what they're doing, we don't know where they are."

Murphy frowned for a moment, before looking at me again. "You can track people using their blood, right?"

"Well, yeah," I said after a moment. "Did Shiro think to give you some of his blood?"

Murphy's head was shaking as I spoke. "No. But we gathered blood from the hotel. A lot of which supposedly came from this Cassius person," she added.

My eyes widened. "Snake Boy did bleed a lot at the hotel."

Murphy nodded. "That's what Shiro said. Would that work?"

I started to reply that it would, but hesitated. "It might. I don't know," I admitted. "He was transformed into his demon form. Whatever blood he left might have broken down when he reverted back to his true form."

"What about Shiro's blood?" Michael asked. "He might have gotten out before the police arrived, but I saw him trade cuts with Nicodemus." He was polite enough to cough lightly before adding. "And there was an icicle…"

"If he bled, we have it," Murphy said. Her eyebrows were pinched with concern. "But we haven't identified any of the samples yet."

"Then we'll need all of it," I told her.

Murphy glared at me. "I can't do that, Harry. It's an ongoing investigation. One that's gotten the attention of some powerful people, considering Marcone's involvement."

"But you—"

"I was thinking I could sneak out _one_ sample," Murphy said, cutting me off. "I figured Cassius's sample wouldn't be too hard to find; there were only so many blood samples taken from large pools of blood without a dead gangster lying beside them. The rest are just droplets. And there are _dozens_ of samples."

I cursed under my breath. "And I suppose the hotel has already started cleaning up?"

"They started the moment our people were done," Murphy confirmed.

I shook my head. "Then we're going to need the samples. All of them."

"How—" Michael began.

"We'll go through them one by one," I said. "Almost everyone that was present is either here, at the hospital, or in the morgue. I'll plop myself over a map and see who doesn't look to be where they should."

The other two looked about as hopeful as I felt. But with time not on our side, there was little to argue over.

"Fine," Murphy said sharply. "I'll see what I can do. But if this costs me my job…"

"I'm sure it will all work out," Michael said, his normally optimistic tone sounding forced.

I hoped he was right, and that someone Upstairs was looking out for Shiro. Because as far as I could tell, They'd sure as hell forgotten about the rest of us.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

A few minutes later saw us on our way. Michael and Sanya were going to freshen up after their twenty-four hour stay in lock-up, while Murphy went to retrieve the samples. She was dropping me off at home along the way, so that I could do some freshening up of my own, as well as prepare for the tracking spell.

As soon as we were off the Carpenter's property, Lacuna appeared in a flash, hovering outside the passenger window. I rolled it down for her, and she slipped in as the motor struggled to raise it again.

"The Guard is watching from a discreet distance," she explained. "No-one will sneak up on us again."

"I don't think they're bothering with us anymore, but thanks," I told her. Glancing to where she was perched on the shoulder of my seat, I gave her a questioning look. "Why were you outside?"

"I did not wish to risk crossing onto their property," she explained without explaining. "Is there anything more I can do to assist you, my lord?"

Murphy snorted at the honorific, which I dutifully ignored. "No, Luna. You've done a fine job." I scowled at her. "And no more offers to sacrifice yourself."

"But—"

"But nothing," I said, cutting her off. "The Denarians caught _all_ of us off guard. There was nothing more you or the others could have done."

Lacuna took a moment to consider my words, before finally nodding. "Very well," she said, accepting my judgment on the matter. "I also apologize for taking so long to expedite your rescue."

"You came as soon as you could," I replied. "I take it you tracked me through the ring?"

The communication ring I wore did more than just let us talk telepathically; it also acted as a homing beacon for her to locate me. It would only work for her, and I assumed that she had begun her search as soon as the Denarians had left with me in tow.

"That is correct," Lacuna confirmed. "Although it failed once they removed it from you. We had to sweep a large area before we finally pinpointed your location." The tiny fairy hesitated, before adding, "I also apologize for not retrieving any of your things."

I sighed as I thought about everything I'd had on me. The hat, duster, rods, and shield bracelet were considerable losses, but given time and resources, I'd could make more.

My mother's amulet was irreplaceable.

The silver pentacle had been give to me by my father. It was the only thing I had of hers, and was the only inheritance remaining from either of them. I'd had a picture once upon a time, but it'd been lost in my time on the run.

I assumed Michael and Sanya hadn't seen anything of my stuff in their search for Shiro. Which meant the Denarians had most likely disposed of all of it. Maybe after everything was over with, I could try and track it down. But my hopes weren't all that high.

"What about my staff?" I asked. It'd been the one thing I hadn't taken inside, which meant it might be the one thing the Denarians hadn't taken.

"We retrieved it," Lacuna confirmed, which elicited a relieved sigh from me. "Toot and some of the others navigated the American Motors Corporation Gremlin back to the house while I tracked your location."

The fairy always referred to the Streetwolves' loaner vehicle by its full make and model, because she didn't want anyone thinking I was getting around town on the back of an actual gremlin.

"That's great, Luna," I told her.

The fairy's wings fell. "We lost three members of the Guard in the battle with the Denarians."

I grimaced, surprised at how deep that struck me. I tended to not think all that much of the smaller fairies around us in the world, but those that had sworn allegiance to me had proven to be loyal and abundantly helpful.

"Who?" I asked quietly.

"Blue Rug, Rhubarb, and Jujube," she said softly. "Colletia was injured, but she should recover."

I looked to the tiny fairy, who's own armor was not unblemished. "We'll avenge them, Luna. Don't worry."

The captain of my household guard snapped a sharp salute. "That we will. I have already begun making preparations."

That surprised me, as did Murphy's comment to the fairy. "That reminds me. Forthill said he'd take care of it."

"I know. Thank you," Lacuna replied with a slight nod. "My people have already retrieved the first supply."

I wanted to ask what they were talking about, but got the distinct impression that they weren't going to fill me in. I knew enough about women to let them plot their own vengeances. A woman scorned, et cetera.

I found myself looking at Murphy as she drove, studying her profile. She sensed my appraisal, and shot a frown in my direction. "What?"

"Thank you," I said softly. "For coming for me."

The detective just shook her head. "Yeah, well. Just be sure to watch your step," she said smartly. "Because one day you're going to step too far. And I'm not going to be there to save you."

I gave an exasperated sigh as she threw my words back in my face. "Okay, I get. I was a bit of an ass."

"A bit?" Murphy replied with wide eyes. "I'm pretty sure you were an entire herd of asses."

"I'm _sorry_ ," I insisted. "I've been in a weird place for the last couple of years."

"That's the understatement of the century," Murphy shot back, before letting her tone cool. "I get it. You've been dealing with a lot of crap."

"You have no idea," I replied, looking out the window as the city passed us by.

"I do, actually," Murphy said. When I looked to her, she gave me a long, firm look. "Just because you haven't been around doesn't mean that I haven't kept up on what's going on in this town, mortal-crime or otherwise."

"Yeah, but—" I began.

"The Council kicked you to the curb," Murphy said, cutting me off. "You went on the run from them and from Bianca's assassins, until you struck a deal with the Sidhe. Now you're their assassin, when you're not helping a local gang make my streets worse."

I ignored the barbed last statement. "How…"

Murphy rolled her eyes and threw a thumb in her own direction. "Hello? Let's remember who's the _actual_ detective between the two of us."

I just blinked, so she continued. "I know all about it. More than you could know," she said, shooting me another look before making a turn. "You do bad things for bad creatures. You run with a rough crowd, the kind that doesn't respect kindness and compassion. The kind that would target those close to you," she added, giving voice to one of my original reasons for distancing myself from the others.

"You've been talking to Michael," I said, realizing who her source must me.

Murphy confirmed it with a nod. "Among other people. But yes, he and Charity really helped me after… after that thing with the Nightmare."

I winced. "I would have—"

"Save it, Dresden," Murphy said not unkindly. "You were busy. I get that. Believe it or not, there are other people that I can turn to. It's not your responsibility to fix every wrong."

I nodded. "Still, I'm sorry. I know it couldn't have been easy."

There was a long pause as Murphy navigated the weekend traffic, her eyes distant for a moment. "It wasn't. But after I finished moping about, I got some help. From the Carpenters, and Father Forthill, and some others."

"Ah," I said with another nod. "Forthill's good people."

"The best," Murphy said automatically.

There was another short lull. "He threw holy water on me, you know."

"From what I heard, you asked for it," Murphy replied sharply. " _Literally._ He caught you breaking into the church to steal holy water."

"I needed it," I explained somewhat petulantly.

"Then you could have just _asked_ for it," Murphy said in an exasperated tone. She cast a bewildered look in my direction. "Damn it, Dresden, when did you stop _asking_ for help?"

I curled my lips, holding back the angry retort that'd sprung to mind. Instead, I said, "Associating with the Winter Knight isn't healthy."

"So you're trying to protect _us?_ " Murphy asked in disbelief. "You're afraid we're going to get drawn into your crap?" She gestured around us, presumably referring to the situation we found ourselves in. "Great job with _that_."

"No, dammit," I growled, flushing a little at the blunt truth. "Being around me right now is dangerous. For everyone. Hell, Nicodemus was threatening Sía and Michael just a couple nights ago. Just because he'd _seen_ them with me."

When I'd first gone on the run, I'd distanced myself from Murphy, Michael, and the Alphas for just that reason. The Council wouldn't have gone after them, but Bianca's assassins wouldn't hesitate to target my friends. I couldn't risk that.

As time had gone on, and I'd felt more isolated, I'd convinced myself that they'd let me go. That they hadn't tried enough to hold on to the friendship. Eventually the lie became so convincing that I resented them for actions they'd never taken.

But my days of lying to myself were over. Nicodemus had been right. The only person to blame for my isolation was myself.

"Michael can handle himself," Murphy replied, cutting through my thoughts. "So can I."

I didn't want to tell her just how unlikely that seemed, but she seemed to pick up on my doubts anyway. Her eyebrow arched up. "You think I can't, but Sía MacTire can?" When I refused to reply, both her eyebrows rose. "Or is it that she's expendable to you?"

" _No_ ," I replied, a little bit of my frustration bubbling up. But to my surprise, there was none of the normal cold anger that accompanied a surge from the mantle. I wondered if that was because of my talk with myself. "Sía and I aren't… we're not together. We're just…"

"Just gangsters with benefits," Murphy finished for me.

 _Yes_ , I thought. _That_ _'_ _s exactly what we are._

While I was on the run, I'd needed help. The Streetwolves provided it, all while I convinced myself that risking their lives was okay; they were criminals, gangsters, lowlifes. They were nothing more than a slightly different variation on Marcone.

But that'd been before I'd gotten to know Sía and the others. Before I'd seen what the gang had become, rather than what I'd known it as back in Parker's day.

And now, I found myself just as protective of them as I'd been of Murphy and the others.

"I'm not a Streetwolf," I insisted, although my heart wasn't in it.

"You can lie to yourself all you want, Dresden. But you can't lie to me," Murphy said quietly as we pulled up in front of my house. She threw her sedan into park and twisted around in the seat. "You've been helping them fight Marcone."

"Yes," I said with a roll of my eyes. "Fine. Yes, I've been helping them push back against Marcone. _And_ against Bianca. Because _no-one else is_."

"We've been doing what we can," Murphy argued.

"Which isn't enough," I countered. "Look, I get it. You're tied down with a lot of bureaucracy. Marcone and Bianca both have too much pull in this town. You're never going to be able to do anything against them."

"That doesn't mean we should work outside the law," Murphy said, her tone hard and unyielding. "Working with the Streetwolves is just picking one group of bad guys over another."

"They're nowhere near Marcone's level," I assured her. "They're staying out of the drug trade and prostitution. And their protection services aren't a facade like Marcone's; they actually help protect people from the other gangs."

"That's something better left to the cops," Murphy said, her tone firm.

"Maybe they'd leave it to them, if so many weren't on the man's payroll."

The detective's jaw tensed. "If you think any of my people—"

"No, Murphy," I said, cutting her off before she got going. "I know you run a clean ship. But you've got one department out of how many?" I looked to her in earnest. "Honestly. How many of the other squads are squeaky clean? How many haven't been bought off by Marcone and Bianca?"

"I can't vouch for the entire force," she conceded, before shooting a hard look at me. "But the Streetwolves are buying people just as much as the others."

"Better them than someone worse," I insisted. "The Streetwolves aren't angels, but they aren't the enemy."

"Shades of gray, Dresden," Murphy said with a shake of her head. "A bad tree can't produce good fruit."

Her choice of phrase hit me harder than anything else, and I think she sensed it. "Harry," she said softly. "Listen to me. I know we've had our problems in the past, but…" She trailed off as she looked around, afraid to meet my eyes for the same reason I kept them averted. "You can come to me. You can come to Michael. We can help you. Don't surround yourself with bad people just because you're afraid of getting us dirty. If you do, you'll just let yourself slip further away."

I stared out the window, watching the winter wind blow specks of ice and snow from a branch overhead. The limb seemed to perk up once it was relieved of the weight.

But if I'd learned anything, it was that there would always be more snow.

"I'll keep that in mind," I said. Murphy recognized it as the polite capstone to her impromptu intervention that it was, and her shoulders sagged just a little. "Thanks."

The woman nodded. "Sure."

I sat there for another moment, knowing we were wasting valuable time. But seeing as this was the most civil we'd been since the night of Bianca's party, I wanted to make the moment last. "How's Mister?"

The question seemed to surprise her. "He's good," she said. "A bit temperamental. I don't let him out."

"Murph, you gotta let him out," I said with a roll of my eyes. "The big cat's gotta hunt."

"It's not safe," she replied with a frown. "There's too much traffic in the neighborhood."

"He'll be fine," I assured her. "Nothing short of a T-Rex is going to get the better of him."

"Tell that to his tail," she replied archly.

"I think that's what got the tail to begin with."

The exchange drew smiles out of both of us, before a blare of a passing car-horn drew us back to reality. Murphy's face grew somewhat pensive as she thought about what she was about to do. "I could really lose my job for removing evidence, you know."

"I know."

A desperate laugh escaped her lips. "Listen to me, the ultimate hypocrite. Telling you not to work outside of the law right before I go and break it."

"I'm sorry."

Murphy considered it for another moment, before giving off a sharp puff of breath. "Alright. Give me a little bit and I'll bring what I can."

"It's the only way," I assured her.

"I know," she replied. She shot me a dark look. "Get a move on, Dresden. The apocalypse isn't going to wait on us."

I nodded at that, and opened the passenger door. Lacuna drifted out, having remained silent to let us talk. She disappeared toward the property line, no doubt to coordinate with the rest of the household guard. "I'll see you in a little bit."

Murphy grunted a farewell, and I closed the door, watching as she drove off to commit what was effectively treason against her own department. To do bad things in order to right a greater wrong. To do what needed to be done.

I could relate to that.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

After freshening up, putting more painkiller on board, and getting a proper set of clothes, I updated Bob on everything. I think he was most upset at the loss of the frost rod, which he'd put a lot of effort into of late.

We tried several things to try and track the Shroud down, but had absolutely no luck. I even called St. Mary's to see if Garcia had retained any pieces of it. She hadn't been willing to talk to me, but Forthill assured me that she'd left it wrapped up just like I had when I'd had it.

Short of selling my soul, I wasn't going to convince anyone in the supernatural community to talk. Murphy put out BOLO's for the Denarians, although that seemed like a long shot. I contacted Moss and did the same, but lightning didn't strike twice. The Streetwolves hadn't heard anything, other than what was being said on the television.

"You heard _what?_ " I asked, so alarmed by his words that I wasn't sure I'd heard him correctly.

"Word is out about the theft," Moss explained. "The heads on the telly have been going on about it for the last couple of hours."

"What's that you said about Acolytes?" I asked, rubbing my forehead as a headache started working its way deep into my skull. Maybe even more painkiller was in order.

"The Acolytes of Revelation," he repeated. "It's some fanatical terrorist group that's claiming to have stolen the Shroud. They've released a statement saying that they stole it to gain the world's attention."

"This has to be Nicodemus," I said, shaking my head. "He's up to something."

"The media's saying this group is threatening a large-scale attack. Tonight."

"But why?" I wondered aloud. "What is he gaining by this?"

"Not sure," Moss said. I could hear his shrug over the phone. "Just thought you'd want to know."

"Alright, thanks," I told him. "Let me know if anyone picks up any leads."

"Righty-ho," the man said, before hanging up. I headed back down to the lab, wondering why Nicodemus would bother with the ruse.

Monsters might not agree on much, but drawing the attention of the human masses was the one thing they all avoided. As massive as the supernatural community was, it was nothing compared to the billions of vanilla mortals with weapons of mass destruction and a penchant for hating things not like them. In an effort of self-preservation, nobody drew overt attention to the supernatural.

And yet it seemed Nicodemus was now inviting the world to watch and wait for his grand scheme to unfold.

I set myself to task, trying to find another way of tracking the Shroud. But I still hadn't found anything by the time the others arrived at my door.

When I went out, it was to find Murphy, Michael, and Sanya waiting on my front step. I held the door aside and waived them, to Murphy's surprise.

"Are you sure you're feeling alright?" she asked me, even as she looked around my foyer. It was her first time stepping into the place since it'd become mine.

"I _was_ going to send you out to the garage," I replied. "But then I realized that'd make me no better than Charity." And besides, if there was anyone I could trust with crossing my threshold, it was two Knights of the Cross and the third Sword's current custodian.

Michael shot me a pained looked for disparaging his wife, but Murphy didn't give him a chance to lay into me. "Have you heard…" she began.

"About the terrorists?" I asked. "Yeah. I'm not sure what to think of that."

Murphy and Michael both looked to Sanya, who spoke softly. "I think I do."

I blinked in surprise at him. "Well, by all means, share."

The man sighed, shifting his arm uncomfortably. It was in a sling, presumably from the wound he'd taken in the hotel fight. "The Fallen are powerful in their own right. They have access to hellfire, a potent and destructive force exclusive to the warriors of hell."

I recalled the sulfurous smell from the alley when Ursiel's claws had started to glow with incredible heat. I'd been surprised at the time that the demon could melt Winter ice; the power of the mantle was tied directly to the wellspring of the Unseelie Court. There was little, at least from what I'd seen, that could go toe-to-toe with that power.

Perhaps this hellfire was responsible. Which said something of just how formidable it was.

Sanya continued, not waiting for any questions. "Hellfire is powerful, but it's not their only source of power. The Fallen are also strengthened by fear. By despair."

"You mean like phobophages or something?" I asked doubtfully. There were ways that some creatures could harvest spiritual energy from humans using such emotions. Such things were common among the Fae and other denizens of the Never-never, but for some reason it seemed beneath the likes of the Fallen.

"No," Sanya said somberly. "Not on an individual scale. On a global scale."

I took a deep breath, as I considered what he was saying.

"That's what this is about," I said, as things started making sense. "It was never about the Shroud itself, or some deadly curse. It's about power."

Michael nodded. "Nicodemus has always dreamed big. But this seems bold, even for him."

I frowned as I thought things through. "Wait, does it have to be despair brought on by them?"

Michael looked to Sanya for some reason, who shook his head. "No. But their… gains, are greater if they are responsible. Especially if it targets the faithful."

If the Russian was right, then I didn't have to worry about just them. _Any_ global level of despair would strengthen the Fallen. Which was a terrifying thought.

Had my failure with Aurora also strengthened them?

"Which explains why he's using the Shroud," Murphy added, unaware of my concerns. She looked to me, her face grim. "It's not just that it's a powerful object; it's an object of faith."

"One that is now known by the masses to be missing," Michael said with a shake of his head. "Which will only add to his madness."

I nodded sharply. "Not if we can get to him first." I looked to Murphy, eying the bag she carried. "Is that it?"

A pained look crossed her face as she handed it over. "You have no idea what this cost me," she said, her voice tight.

I looked to her in alarm. "You didn't get caught, did you?"

Her head shook firmly. "Yess, but not in the way you think."

I didn't understand, and said as much. Murphy sighed in frustration. "Everything was in storage over at the Crime Lab. Which means I had to go through someone in that department."

Still not understanding, I looked to the others. Michael looked embarrassed for her, while Sanya gave a small smile as he explained. "The technician blackmailed her."

"He what?" I asked, shocked. "What…"

To my surprise, Murphy blushed as she looked away. "I have to go on a date with him."

I blinked. "A date?"

Murphy's face was all but crimson. "Dinner and a movie."

I shook my head solemnly. "I'm sorry, Murph. That sounds horrible." I rested a hand on her shoulder. "Just know that the rest of us appreciate your sacrifice."

The bag of blood samples slammed into my gut hard enough to knock the wind out of me. "Just go do your thing," the tiny detective growled.

I nodded to the others. "I'll get to work. Luna will show you where you can wait."

The captain of the Guard swooped in to escort the three back into the kitchenette, while I headed downstairs to make with the magic.

* * *

Nightfall was creeping ever closer as I set aside the last blood-crusted crystal.

"Murphy's going to kill me," I said with a sigh.

"That seems likely," Bob said brightly, his eye-lights shining from within his marionette.

A pile of discarded crystals lay to one side of my greater summoning circle. Each was paired with a string, along with a smear of dried blood from the evidence Murphy had provided. A map of Chicago was unfolded in the center. The bag the samples had come in had been left in the other room, where I'd prepared the tracking spells.

I'd known as soon as I'd seen the samples that we were in trouble.

In my head, I'd been picturing vials of blood gathered at the scene. Something they'd keep on a shelf at the station, which Murphy could pilfer and deliver to me, which would then lead us directly to Shiro or one of the other Denarians.

Instead, they were all but worthless.

The police were clinical in their methods, taking great care not to contaminate the evidence. But their process of preserving the blood for long-term storage, which consisted of letting the blood dry out and chilling the samples, was also affective at making them useless when it came to magic.

To my surprise, some of the samples had worked. But as soon as I'd pinpoint a location on the map in the circle, a member of the Guard was sent to scout the place.

Each time they reported back, it was to confirm that the blood belonged to either Marcone's people or Bianca's. Those failures piled atop the others that never even twitched on the string.

Now that the last had failed, it was time to face the truth.

We had no way of finding them.

Bob walked around the circle, his wooden legs moving smoothly as he made his way to the pile of crystals. "Perhaps if we tried the failed attempts again, only adding some of the items he gave you?"

I'd already considered that, but had written it off. "Cassius was wearing his Vincent suit when he gave me the paperwork. Something tells me it's not going to have a trace of him on it."

Bob's marionette shifted, a wooden finger tapping against his jaw as he considered our predicament. I did the same, trying to think of something.

A couple minutes later, I gave up. "Damnit."

Bob's small skull tilted back to look up at me as I stood. "What are you going to do now?"

"I don't know," I said, as a hollow feeling started to settle into my gut. "Go upstairs and tell them that we're screwed? That I failed Shiro? That I have no idea where Nicodemus is going to strike? That he's going to use the Shroud to spread his plague, and there's nothing we can do about it?"

Before Bob could reply, a distant chime sounded. I glanced up in surprise, before looking back down to the marionette.

Bob's wooden skull was tilted to one side, as if he were listening to something I couldn't hear. "Someone's ringing the Never-bell," he said, before tilting his head again. "It's Grimalkin."

I groaned at the news. "What does he want?"

"Perhaps Mab needs you?" Bob suggested.

"Worst timing ever," I growled as I started to clear away everything from the summoning circle. "And after what she pulled, I'm tempted to refuse whatever she wants."

"That's always an option," Bob said agreeably. "It's been hours since anyone tortured you, so you're overdo."

Rather than reply, I finished clearing the circle, and then prepared to open a way through my wards.

Most people aren't aware of just how easily the Fae can pass over their thresholds. The general assumption is that they wouldn't fare any better than any other supernatural beast crossing over without an invitation. But that assumption is most assuredly wrong.

In reality, the Sidhe and their fairy kin may come and go through most thresholds with ease. They can pop in and watch you sleep, as long as they abide by Guest Law. In short, as long as they don't act against the home-owner, they aide them if required, and use nothing they learn against the individual, the Fae can enter as they please.

That's the case with _most_ thresholds, at any rate.

Knowing perfectly well what the Fae are capable of, and having at least one of the two major Courts sided firmly against my continued existence, I'd taken precautions. The wards I'd put into place around the mansion did more than just warn me of pending attacks and bar the darker things from setting foot on the property; they also kept the Sidhe out, unless specifically invited.

Seeing as the only fairies that had permission to enter were those serving in my Guard, it meant my home was very secure indeed.

The only way in for someone like Grimalkin was to either ring the front doorbell and hope I was foolish enough to let them in, or ring the Never-bell. The latter was nothing more than a magical construct I'd placed on the Never-never side of my home, which would let me know when someone came a'calling. In such an event, I could lower the wards within the summoning circle, which would trap them inside just as efficiently as it had with the oracle spirit.

I just hoped this visit went better than that one had.

When the way was open, the large feline fae appeared within the circle, his large bulk stretching as his eyes studied the barrier confining him.

"Greetings, Winter Knight," the malk purred. If he was offended at being trapped within the circle, he didn't let it show.

"Grimalkin," I said with a certain degree of frustration. "Now's not a good time."

"Indeed," Grimalkin replied, his tone somewhat wry as he looked over the pile of discarded crystals. "You seem most busy. As such, I will not waste your time."

"Great," I said. "What's Mab want?"

"Simply to convey her congratulations at seeing your name cleared," the malk said, his large eyes settling on mine in a most unsettling way. "The intermediary has delivered word that you were found innocent of any wrong-doing."

"I'm sure our esteemed mistress is doing back-flips," I replied. "Anything else?"

The malk's tail flickered in some mild annoyance. "The Queen will also be looking into the violation committed by Duke Ortega during the duel. But as it stands, it seems unlikely that she will seek any further recompense from the Red Court."

"Yeah, yeah," I said, waiving my arm in a hurrying motion. "She doesn't want to antagonize the Reds while she's busy with Summer. I get it."

Grimalkin's eyes narrowed. "Our Master also wished me to convey her regret that your servant's inability to serve as your second led to your present circumstances."

"I'm sure she's heartbroken."

"I would not go so far as to say that," Grimalkin said. "Still, she did not seem pleased with how the situation developed. Considering _who_ you ultimately chose as your second."

"Well, she's got no-one to blame for that but herself," I countered.

The malk's ear twitched. "Perhaps. All the same, she would recommend that you not ingratiate yourself with such beings. While the Fallen may be members of our Queen's Accords, their intentions and goals do not align with those of our Master."

Something about the way he said it caught my attention. Bob's skull cocked sideways as well, so I figured I wasn't imagining things. "You're saying Mab doesn't agree with Old Nick's methods."

"Decidedly not," Grimalkin confirmed. "His methods incite chaos, something our Queen despises."

"Mab despises anything she doesn't control," I said absently. My eyes focused in on the malk. "You're telling me Mab doesn't like what Nick is trying to do."

Grimalkin didn't reply.

"Okay," I said, nodding my head slowly as I tried to figure out what the malk was really saying.

Maybe this visit wasn't worthless after all.

Although it's timing alarmed me. I'd have to review my wards, to make sure it was just coincidence that Mab's lap kitten showed up with helpful advise the precise _moment_ my own attempts at finding the Denarians failed.

"If she doesn't like what he's doing, why not offer up some help?" Before the malk could spit at the mere thought of helping me out of sheer goodness, I quickly added. "As compensation for the inconvenience with finding a second."

Grimalkin's head tilted to one side, so far that I thought it might roll all the way around. "Such a thing might be appropriate," he said, before righting his head. "Unfortunately, our Master does not wish to involve herself in these matters."

I ground my teeth in frustration. "Damnit, Grim…"

The malk smiled a slow smile. "Good luck finding the snake in your garden, Winter Knight. It's a shame you do not have someone to help root out the problem."

As the feline fae spoke, his body slowly began to disappear, until the only thing left visible was his Cheshire cat smile. After a long moment, that too disappeared, leaving behind only an echo of a chuckle.

I stared at the empty circle for a long moment, before reaching out with my senses. It was apparent that the Sidhe was gone, so I put the wards back into place. "Fucking malk," I grumbled. "I'm going to find a vet that'll cut off his—"

"Harry."

"What?" I asked Bob, irritated.

The skull's head tilted up at me. "Stop whining for a minute and think about what he said."

I paused from gathering up the crystals. "What who said? Grimalkin?"

Bob's wooden head nodded. "What are we looking for?"

"The Shroud," I said flatly. "The Denarians. Shiro. Any of the above."

The marionette's head shook. "Shiro, yes. But not just who Shiro is, but _what_ he is."

That threw me for a loop. "What are you talking about?"

"Shiro isn't just a captive; he's a _sacrifice_ ," Bob explained, his eye-lights seeming to grow more excited. "He's fuel for the plague curse; that much is obvious. Just like Father Vincent was for their test run. Just like you were supposed to be."

"What's that—" I started, before I realized what Bob was getting at. "Oh. We're not just looking for Shiro. We're looking for the _curse_."

It's true I'd been focused on finding the individuals, or the specific power of the Shroud, rather than considering what the Denarians were doing. Nicodemus himself had said he needed me not for simply revenge, but as a sacrifice with a certain degree of metaphysical value. Which explained why he'd taken pains to make sure I hadn't broken my word, and thus weakened myself.

Shiro didn't have my power, but he'd probably been a Knight of the Cross for a while. When it came to mortals without power or resources, I couldn't imagine any that would be more suitable than a Knight, who had channeled the will of Those Above on a daily basis.

Shiro wasn't just a victim; he was fuel for a curse that I'd already seen enacted. A curse that had left its first victim saturated in dark magic. The kind detectable by a scant few on the same wavelength.

" _Snake_ in the garden," Bob repeated. "Help _root_ out the problem."

I shouted as I shot to my feet and ran for the chamber door. "Lacuna!"

It didn't take long for the tiny fairy to appear, hovering in the air before me. "What is it, my lord?"

"Where's Snakeroot?"

* * *

The suspension in Murphy's sedan groaned and creaked as she took a corner at speed. Maybe it was due to the age of the vehicle, but I think it had more to do with the presence of over seven hundred pounds of warriors, weapons, and armor packed in the tight confines.

With three of us well over six feet in height, two-thirds of whom were heavily laden with muscle, there wasn't much room to spare. Especially when you added in the Swords, Michael's plate mail armor, Sanya's Kevlar, and my wizard staff. At that point the Russian's assault rifle and Murphy's collection of firearms seemed almost silly.

Even the dash was packed tight, with half a dozen fairies crouching down to stare intently out the window. Over a dozen more were in the rear window well, jostling for room amongst themselves. I'm sure it would have been pure comedy gold, had it not been for the dire situation.

"I can't believe you brought snacks!" Lacuna hissed, her glare almost enough to make me worry about her casting her own plague curse on the subject of her ire.

"Ih'm ah nerphus eater," Toot replied, his mouth full of pretzel stick.

"You barely fit into your armor!" Lacuna snapped, rapping her knuckles on the titanium plate mail he wore.

Seeing as I knew that Toot's stomach could expand to accommodate quite a lot of food, he'd never be overweight. The little guy's metabolism was that of a hummingbird.

The other members of the Guard all leaned back and forth as the car weaved around traffic, the siren and roof light doing what they could to open a path for us. Almost every other fairy in the car was similarly munching on pretzel sticks.

The only other hold-out was Snakeroot, who stood atop the air vent beneath the window, his long and curving nose sniffing at the air coming in from outside.

"Turn right," the little fairy rasped, the odd sprouts of white hair atop his head waiving back and forth like dandelion seeds.

"Now?" Murphy asked, her voice tight.

"Of course now," Snakeroot snapped, his voice filled with disdain for the five-foot tall woman that dared to question him. That he was a mere three inches didn't seem to weight into his reasoning that he was the more dangerous of the two. "If I wanted you to turn later, I would have told you later."

Murphy's teeth appeared as she bit back a reply, instead steering the car into another turn. The rest of us held on, although I heard a chorus of "Oh's" from the back, followed by what sounded like a dozen fairies falling over like bowling pins.

"Easy," I said softly, wary of inciting Murphy's wrath.

The detective shot me a dark look, but it was short-lived as she returned her attention to the road. "I'm going to trap him in a coffee tin and put him in the dryer if his tone doesn't improve."

I knew her anger was rooted in her frustration. She really hadn't liked hearing that the evidence she'd stolen had been worthless. It didn't help matters that the alternative navigation system was a surly and venomous little cuss.

"We grow close," Snakeroot hissed, turning his head to look at Murphy. "Silence your banshee."

A growl erupted from Murphy's throat. I turned to her quickly. "He means the siren."

"Damn right he better mean the siren," Murphy hissed as she flicked the switch for the siren with more force than was strictly necessary. That was followed by another flick that cut off the flashing light she'd attached to the roof.

"You smell like antiseptic," Snakeroot spat at her. The way he said it made it sound as if it were the worst possible thing in the world.

I could hear the leather groan beneath Murphy's death grip on the wheel. But before she could say anything else, Snakeroot sniffed the air and pointed out the front. "Stop there."

Seeing as he'd been pointing about twenty yards in front of us, and we were going close to fifty miles per hour, there was nothing Murphy could do to stop in time. Breaks squealed as the car swerved toward the curb, coasting past the spot Snakeroot had indicated and leaving a trail of burnt rubber on the pavement in the process.

The sound of more tumbling fairies in the back accompanied a startled yelp from the Russian. Those in front all slammed into the glass, save for Lacuna and Snakeroot, neither of whom were distracted by pretzels.

The latter turned, directing a scornful gaze toward Murphy as he shook his head in exasperation. "She passed it."

"Why you—"

"Close enough," I said by way of compromise. I turned to the back in time to see the tiny fairies climbing all over Michael and Sanya, trying to regain their balance. The Russian was busy trying to shake pretzel crumbs out of his Kevlar vest.

"Where is it?" Michael asked.

Snakeroot motioned for the door, and I opened it. The fairy flapped his translucent bat-shaped wings and took to the air, with Lacuna hot on his heels.

Night had almost fallen by the time we'd tracked down the hateful little fairy. As we exited, the last traces of dusk were fading from the skyline, leaving the city shrouded in dark clouds.

Murphy and I quickly slipped out of the vehicle while the others tried to dislodge themselves from the back. Seeing as I only had my wizard staff to worry about, it was a fairly easy process once I found the right angle.

Of the four of us, I was the only one that might pass for normal. Which was a bit disconcerting, to be honest. I mean, I'm used to getting looks due to my height and duster. It fuels my inner Gandalf when people pause to let me stride past.

But that night, I would fit into a normal crowd, save for my staff. With my duster missing in action, I'd donned the same dress suit I'd worn to the auction. It was a little wrinkled, but I wasn't looking to impress a date. The protection spells worked into it were still mostly good, and would help in a fight.

By comparison, the others looked like an odd assortment of cosplayers. Murphy was dressed in street-clothes, but had donned a police Kevlar vest. With her Glock in her holster and her badge on her vest, she would have passed for a normal cop, if it weren't for the katana on one hip.

I knew she had a collection of such weapons, but only the sheath was hers. The Nail in the hilt identified it as Fidelacchius.

When I'd asked her what she intended to do with it, she'd insisted she would return it to Shiro when we found him. Michael and Sanya hadn't taken issue with her bringing it, so I let it go.

The Russian was the next closest to normal, although that was only by a stretch of the imagination. The man was wearing full body tactical gear. An illegal assault rifle was slung over his shoulder, and Esperacchius hung on a hip. He could have been cast as SWAT member #5, if it hadn't been for the arm in a sling.

Michael rounded out the group, winning the prize for Most Authentic Crusader Knight. His plate mail wasn't exactly ornate, being of a simple metal without much filigree. But the crosses worked into it went well with the blood red cross stitched into the white cloak. An assortment of blades were tucked across his person, if the massive blade of Amoracchius proved to be not enough.

As our motley crew disembarked, Snakeroot sniffed at the air. Thankfully there wasn't any foot traffic on the street, most of which consisted of residential housing. The lone standout seemed to be our destination, which the tiny fairy drifted towards as he followed the scent of the dark magic.

"There," he finally said, indicating the large stone building set back a few meters from the road. The rest of us looked up at its profile, the building's odd design making it seem out of place.

The street-facing facade looked like a government building, with its white stonework, peaked roof, and Corinthian columns. The front wall was concave, with the corners tapering backwards to the main entrance. The front was easily two stories high, with the barest hint of the large dome visible further back.

"A church?" Murphy asked as she looked it over.

"St. Stephens," I informed her. "It's been abandoned for years."

The only reason I knew about the place was because it was in the Streetwolves' old territory. The Full Moon garage was only a couple blocks to the east, while the University sat to the west. I'd scouted the old church while I'd been on the run from the Council; the energies around places of worship were handy to disguise my own magics.

I hadn't bothered hiding there due to its location. It was on a well used road, with lots of residents that would note any odd noises and lights appearing in the abandoned building. But whatever qualms I'd had with squatting on holy ground, it seemed the Denarians didn't share them.

"Their blasphemy knows no bounds," Michael muttered as he looked up at the place.

"They're Fallen angels. What'd you expect?" I said smartly. "Although I'm surprised they can set foot in the place. Even though it's been shuttered for a while, it's still holy ground."

"Holy ground does not deter the Fallen," Sanya said, once again surprising me with his knowledge of them.

"What do you mean?" I asked with a frown. "In my experience, a church's threshold will stop just about every supernatural creature."

"That is true," Lacuna piped up. "We had to get special permission."

I glanced at her, having no idea what she was talking about. But before I could ask, Sanya continued. "The threshold of a church might limit their power, but it will not stop them."

"What kind of bullshit is that?" I asked angrily, looking to Michael.

"They are human," my friend replied softly. "Any mortal may cross into a church; where else could they seek salvation?"

I found myself grounding my teeth. "The things in the coins aren't human. They're the farthest thing from."

"Shiro once speculated that the Fallen were allowed in, so that they might seek salvation as well," Sanya said, before shrugging. "Not that such a thing is possible. In my experience, it's that they find such places to be uncomfortable reminders."

I glared at the Knight of the Cross. "Since when are you an expert on everything Denarian?"

Sanya met my gaze. "Since I used to be one."

I don't think the man could have said anything that would have shocked me more.

I looked to Michael, who gave a slight reassuring nod. I wanted to ask him what he meant, but the detective headed off my plethora of questions.

"We don't have time for this right now," Murphy hissed. She turned to me, as if to make sure I let the subject go. "What are we dealing with?"

It took me a moment to get my mind back on track. "The place is empty," I informed her, stealing only a couple glances at the Russian. "From what I've seen previously, it consists mostly of a large nave. The pews are long gone, along with anything else of value. There's some administrative rooms off to the sides, but the bulk of it is just the main hall under the dome," I said, nodding toward the roof.

"Other entrances?" Murphy asked.

"Several," I confirmed. Turning to Lacuna, I nodded at the building. "Have the Guard scout it for us. No-one's to enter."

The captain of my Guard nodded and turned to signal the other fairies, most of whom had disappeared after exiting the vehicle. Only Lacuna, Toot, and Snakeroot remained, but as Lacuna set the others to work, I saw lights flicker back and forth.

"What is the plan?" Sanya asked.

I pursed my lips at him, while trying to ignore the questions rattling in my brain. "Let's see what they find, and then we'll go in."

"Should we not hurry?" the Russian asked, sounding irritated with the delay.

"Yes, we should," I replied shortly. "But I'm not rushing into a trap."

The big guy seemed like he wanted to argue, but Michael put a restraining hand on his shoulder. "Patience, my friend."

Sanya's jaw tightened, but he gave a short nod. I turned back to the building, to await word from the fairy scouts, all while fighting a growing dread that we were too late.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Five minutes later found me walking into the church alone, the heavy wooden doors closing almost silently behind me on a pocket of air.

I covered myself in a veil before making my way forward, toward the inner doors leading into the nave. One was propped open, while the other was missing entirely. It made my entrance easier, and I slipped in and let my eyes adjust to the dark space.

Light filtered in from the glass skylight at the peak of the dome and the high curving windows to either side. The only other illumination came from the candles up where the altar had once sat.

While scarce, the light was enough to reveal the decrepit state of the old church, where old paint had cracked and crumbled from the walls and dome ceiling down to litter the floor. Dust and debris had drifted in through a couple broken windows, ensuring that there wasn't a clean inch of marble in sight.

As I'd observed previously, the place was barren of anything that poachers might be interested in. The lone holdouts were the candelabras at the front, which I assumed were recent additions put into place by the squatters.

A body lay between the two sets of candles. A white sheet had been spread out beneath the limp form, most likely to allow for the sorcerer to make their magic circle without having to clean the area. Their concern certainly hadn't been with preserving the state of the floor, which was doused liberally with blood.

Arcs of it had been cast about, although most of it was concentrated on the sheet itself. I could tell from a distance that it wasn't the Shroud; that'd been long and narrow, whereas this one looked like something you'd find in the bedding section of Wal-Mart.

There was no sign of anyone, but that didn't mean much. I started forward carefully, making sure not to disturb much of the debris scattered across the floor. I could see where others had tread in and out, and knew that even with a good veil, my progress would be noted if I kicked up too much dust.

I was halfway to the front when one of the doors at the rear opened, and the short dark form of Cassius appeared. He seemed distracted as he dried his hands with a towel. The man didn't even spare a glance in my direction as he approached the body on the floor.

But when he was about three feet away from it he froze, a surprised look crossing his face. A moment later he looked toward the front of the nave as a set of glowing eyes appeared on his forehead. His own eyes began to glow a second later, and all four fixated on me even through my veil.

"You!" the Denarian hissed, even as he began his transformation. In a matter of seconds his clothes were torn away, his human body giving way to the serpentine one I'd seen at the hotel; dark green scales covering thick muscular arms and a wide snake body.

I strode forward, releasing the veil around me as my eyes locked on the Denarian. His thin scaly lips peeled back into a modulating hiss as his hands weaved in the air between us. I could feel his magic as it took shape, forming a massive ball of writhing snakes that he flung in my direction.

"Infriga!" I shouted, jabbing one end of my staff at the ball of snakes, before spinning it and unleashing a second spell on the heels of the first. "Forzare!"

The first chilled the air as it sped toward the oncoming serpents. When it hit, the writhing mass froze solid in an instant, their bodies stiff, lifeless and cold by the time the force spell arrived. It shattered them on impact, littering the floor with chunks of frozen flesh that were crushed under my boots.

As I drew more power in, the Denarian seemed to realize he might be in trouble. He moved quickly, spinning to slither toward one of the rear doors. There were exits back there that would let him escape.

The demon skidded to a halt as a bright light appeared in the doorway a moment before Michael strode through, bearing the shining blade of Amoracchius.

To his credit, Cassius reacted with surprising speed. His body twisted again, to make for the door on the other side of the recessed sanctuary, only to visibly flinch as Sanya strode through that one, Esperacchius shining just as brightly as its counterpart.

The Denarian spun in place, clearly seeking out a means of escape. But as his serpentine head twisted about, Murphy's running footsteps sounded from behind me, until she came to a rest at my side, Fidelacchius still sheathed at her hip.

"Give up," Michael said softly, his voice as cold.

Cassius just hissed in response, before slithering toward the wall. It took me a moment to realize he planned on scaling the stone surface, his clawed human hands breaking marble to pull himself up. He moved quickly, and if he'd been left to his own devices, he might have made it to the skylight.

Instead, my spells hit him as he reached the bottom of the dome, the stone freezing even as a cutting wind tore him away and threw him back toward the apse.

My legs were moving even as he fell, a mantle-infused leap carrying me over the remains of the fallen Knight laying on the blanket. I arrived as Cassius crashed down, my frost-covered hand slamming into his throat and pinning him against the wall.

His claws rose, as if he planned to resist. But as the other two Knights arrived at my sides, their swords bright and ready for their bloody work, the demon gave up.

"Where's Nicodemus?" I snarled as I slammed Snake Boy into the wall. His arms rose in surrender, but both sets of eyes were narrowed with undisguised hate as he looked down on me.

"I will tell you nothing, wizard," the snake hissed.

"We'll see about that," I growled as the ice thickened across my fingers and palm. Tiny razors formed, pressing into his flesh and cutting him as I lifted him higher.

The demon's neck spasmed beneath my grip, but the defiance never left his eyes. "Do your worst, mortal," he spat hoarsely. "I have served Nicodemus for longer than—"

His words cut off when icy fingernails plunged into the sides of his neck. "I get it. You've been Nick's pet snake for a while. I bet you have your own aquarium back home and everything." He gasped as my grip tightened again. "But Nick isn't here now. I am. And they are," I added, nodding toward the Knights. "So start talking, or we're going to see how much skin you shed before there's nothing left."

The Denarian's eyes shifted back and forth between the Knights. But to my surprise, his lips curled into a smile. "They will do nothing to me."

"Wanna—" I began, before a glowing sigil appeared on Cassius's forehead. It flared brightly for just a moment, and then it flashed in a burst of light.

I had just enough time to see the flap of flesh that had appeared on his head before something was tumbling out of it. It glinted in the light from the Swords as it glanced off my forearm and headed directly toward my face.

My eyes widened as the chipped and twisted coin bounced off my cheek before clattering to the floor.

I heard Michael hiss beside me, even as I watched the serpentine flesh break down beneath my grip. With his cursed coin gone, Cassius reverted back to his human form. He groaned as the transformation was completed, and after only a few moments I found myself looking at nothing more than a two-bit sorcerer with a bloody neck.

"Did it touch you?" Michael gasped, his attention no longer on the man I held. "Harry, did it touch you?"

I released my staff, ice forming on the bottom to form a base to let it stand on its own. As it did, my free hand reached up to stroke at my cheek. Frost-covered fingertips traced across a thicker coating of ice on my face, thicker than there'd been when I summoned up my power.

The mantle must have realized the danger and acted to protect me of its own accord.

"No," Sanya answered for me, his eyes on my frigid armor. "The ice protected him."

"I'm fine," I said, hoping I sounded calmer than I felt. "No demons here."

"Exactly," Cassius hissed, his human face contorting in pain as the effort caused my armored hand to cut into his flesh.

Realizing that I could accidentally kill the man before he told us anything, I let the icy blades fade back. "What are you talking about?"

"My name is Quintius Cassius, and I have long been slave to the will of the demon Saluriel," the man said gleefully as his dark eyes glittered with malice. "I beg you for mercy and the chance to mend my ways."

"Like hell," I said, tightening my grip on him.

"Harry," Michael said softly, much too softly for my liking.

I turned to him, blinking in surprise at his defeated tone. "What?" Both Knights pulled their swords back, the light fading from their blades as they did. It left that corner of the room shrouded in darkness. "What are you doing?"

"Harry, we can't," Michael said, sounding as if he'd been gutted.

"What?"

"He has surrendered the coin," Sanya spat. If Michael was saddened by the turn of events, the Russian was filled with disgust.

"So what?" I replied. "He killed Shiro. And he's helping do a hell of a lot more. Not to mention whatever he's done in the past."

"Oh, I have done much," Cassius gloated. "So very, very much. And they know that I will do so much more." His eyes shifted to Michael, taking delight in my friend's misery. "They know I will once more take up a coin. But there is nothing they can do about it."

"Bullshit," I said, looking at my friend. "He's just as guilty now as he was moments ago."

"It does not matter, Harry," Michael said sadly. "Our purpose is to save the hosts. To help them find the strength to seek redemption."

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" I hissed, furious at him. As I spoke, I slammed Cassius into the wall for emphasis. "He might not be a demon, but he's still a monster."

Cassius gave off a wispy laugh. "Save me, oh great Knight of the Lord."

As Michael stepped further back, I turned to Sanya. The man had already sheathed his sword, and had bent to retrieve the discarded coin. Once it was folded away in a white handkerchief like the one Michael had used before, he turned away, to look toward the fallen Knight behind us.

"It's over, Harry," Michael said as he did the same. "There is nothing more we can do to him."

"But we still don't know where Nick is!" I shouted.

"Churches."

The raspy voice caught us all off-guard, and my head swiveled around to look at the bloodied form lying on the sheet.

"Shiro?" Michael asked, shocked that the man was still breathing. So was I.

The small man nodded weakly from where he lay on the floor. His body was covered in gore, but somehow enough strength remained to make his chest rise and fall. "I am here, my friend."

Murphy had already knelt beside him. Fidelacchius was lying at his side where she'd tucked it into his arm, making good on her promise to return it to him. Sanya and Michael quickly joined her, all three kneeling beside the Knight.

I tightened my grip on Cassius and pulled him away from the wall, before striding back toward the others. Before I got there I flung the man to the ground and dropped to a knee. When he tried to rise, I grabbed him by the back of the neck and shoved him down again, his skull bouncing off the marble floor.

"Churches," Shiro repeated, turning his head as best he could to look to his brethren.

"We're in the church," Michael assured him.

"No," Shiro said, before a wracking cough shook him violently. A misty blood spat from his lips, and I thought for a second that he'd breathed his last. But somehow the man held on to continue. "The churches. The Shroud is in the churches."

The others shared a confused glance as Cassius began to laugh.

"Shut up," I snarled, bouncing his head off the floor again.

"What do you mean the 'churches'?" Murphy asked. "How can it be in multiple places?"

"They cut it," Shiro wheezed. "Many times over."

All of us froze in shock. The former Denarian's laugh began again as his face twisted around to look up at me. "Too late. Far too late, wizard."

My gaze returned to Shiro as he feebly reached for Murphy's hand. "His servants… he sent his servants out…" His speech was again interrupted by a hacking cough, this one longer and more painful than the last.

I flipped Cassius over and glared down at him. "Explain."

The man just laughed.

"It's okay," Murphy said to Shiro, who was fading quickly. "We'll get you to help."

"Too late," Cassius hissed darkly.

"He's right," Shiro said when finally could. "Nicodemus's curse… can't escape…"

"Like hell," I growled, before looking up to the dying man. "We'll get you behind wards. Get you medical attention."

Shiro just slowly shook his head as he reached for the Sword at his side. Murphy helped him find it, only to blink in surprise as he pushed it to her. "Take it."

"I… I can't…" she said, shocked.

"You… are a good person, detective," he said feebly. A small smile appeared on his lips despite his obvious pain. "Better than you know. Take… take the Sword. You will know."

"I'll know what?" Murphy asked breathlessly.

"Trust your heart," Shiro said, his voice becoming thinner.

I think we all knew at that point that there was no changing fate. No stopping what they'd done to the man. The Knights were openly crying by then, as was Murphy. I wanted to cry, but found my tear-ducts frozen beneath an icy rage.

As distant bells began to chime, the man spasmed, his eyes widening as he suffered the worst seizure yet. Cassius chuckled as he watched. "You hear those bells, old man? They chime for thee."

No-one spared the man a glance. Our eyes were fixed on the fallen Knight as his chest finally settled, his face relaxing as he took one last breath. A peaceful look overcame him then, one far better than I would have expected from such a death. There was almost a smile to his lips as his eyes grew distant, as if he were seeing someone there we could not.

Perhaps he was.

As the others wept, I sat back, my head suddenly spinning as I grew nauseous.

It should have been me lying there. I was the one that the prophecy had named. I was the one that had gotten involved. It was my recklessness that had made the Knight act to preserve my life. My fault that the Denarians had succeeded in gaining the Shroud.

My fault that a good man had died.

There was a time I would have hated myself for that. And perhaps I would later. But at the moment, I had someone else to blame, someone else to hate.

When my gaze fell once again to Quintus Cassius, there was nothing but cold determination in them.

The man gasped as I pulled him off the floor. My steps wavered, the dizzying sensation lingering as I shook him. When we turned back toward the back wall, it was more of a stumbling motion than anything else. He gasped as I slammed him into the marble. But the violent blow hadn't been intentional; I'd lost my balance as I moved, causing me to fall forward.

Something was wrong with me.

The small man before me just laughed around the hand at his throat.

Looking to him, my vision blurred while I fished around in my pockets with my free hand.

"You might be out of their reach," I whispered darkly, my eyes unflinching as they focused on the man. I didn't even fear a soulgaze, because I knew that as bad as seeing Cassius's soul might be, he'd see mine in return. Maybe that would be enough to convince him of just how far I was willing to go. "But you're not beyond mine."

"What will you do?" Cassius spat contemptuously. "We learned all about you. I know your limits."

"I'll make you suffer," I promised him. My gaze was hard as I increased the pressure on his chest, while withdrawing my secret weapon. Whatever I'd felt, it seemed to be clearing up. "As for how much, and how far I'm willing to go…" I smiled cruelly as my grip on his shoulder tightened like a vice.

"Let's just say I'm of one mind about it."

The man started to reply, until he felt the cold metal snap around his wrist. His eyes went wide with horror as the thorned manacle bit into his flesh, and he gasped a desperate breath as it took away whatever latent magical talent he had.

I quickly fastened the second one on, even as the man howled in agony. Just as I'd felt the thorns rip away my magic when I tried to use it, so too did the former Denarian. He screamed when he realized what I'd done.

It only grew worse after that.

"Tell me what you've done," I hissed.

"Harry," Michael said.

"No," Cassius gasped, even as he squealed in pain. His eyes dropped down, unconsciously looking to his feet. The cold I was channeling into him started there, making his flesh grow pale before tinging blue. "I can't."

"You can," I said, holding him against the wall as I leaned in. "And you will."

"I can't—" he started, only to break off into a scream as the blood froze in his veins.

"Harry, you can't," Michael said from right behind me. I felt a hand land on my shoulder.

It flinched away on contact, burned as if he'd touched dry ice.

"If you tell me, I'll stop," I whispered to Cassius, who's eyes were growing unfocused. "I'll even release you."

"You… You won't," he gasped, his head lolling as his body spasmed.

"I will," I assured him. "I swear on my power that I will." The cold continued to creep up the man's legs. With his clothing torn away from his transformation, his tormented flesh was on display for all to see. "But not until after you've told us what we need to know."

Cassius resisted for as long as he could. But every man has a breaking point. A point where they'll do anything to make the pain stop. Most would have given up the information quickly.

Cassius held out until I kicked his left foot, causing it to shatter.

"Alright!" he screamed. "Alright! Just stop!"

"Better hurry…" I said, letting the power work its way higher. I imagined I could feel his heart laboring to try and keep pumping the cold blood in his veins.

"The churches!" the man gasped. "We cut the Shroud into pieces and sent the Acolytes to churches!"

"What churches?"

"Lots!" he whimpered. "All over!"

"All over Chicago?" I asked, confused.

"All over the world!"

I leaned back, letting up on the power as his words stunned me.

He must have felt the advancing ice stop, because he pressed on enthusiastically. "We cut squares this morning." He gasped to catch his breath before continuing. "We doused the squares with blood," he said, seeming to nod at me before jerkily nodding in Shiro's direction. "We sent the first servitors out not long after dawn. Most of their flights landed hours ago."

"Where?" I pressed.

"Everywhere," he cried pitifully. "London. Rome. New York. Shangai. Tokyo."

"Good God," Michael whispered from behind me.

"Why?" I growled. "To spread the plague curse?"

"Yes," Cassius said. "Originally we were just going to spread it slowly. Put it on a flight or a train or something, to let it roll across the countryside. But then you gave Nicodemus the idea to spread it out."

"What?!" Murphy gasped.

"I did no such thing," I snapped. The ice began its ascent up his body again, and he cried out when he felt it.

"You did!" he screamed. "You told him there was enough to go around! That the Shroud was powerful enough to share!"

A cold feeling started working its way through my veins as the man continued. "I told Nicodemus that you were right; that with both your blood and the Jap's fueling the curse, along with the latent power in the Shroud, that I could spread it across all of the pieces."

"That's impossible," I insisted. "They'd need to be here when the curse activated."

"No," he replied quickly. "No, I prepared each together. The spell just needed a trigger."

I glanced back over my shoulder. "Shiro's death."

Cassius nodded. "Nicodemus used the Barabbas curse. The entropy spell was to hit him at the appointed time."

I blinked as I realized what he meant. "The bells. You said the bells…"

"When the five o'clock bells chimed, it'd hit," he confirmed. "I was supposed to make sure you didn't find a way to interfere, but it didn't really matter. The Barabbas curse would track the Jap no matter where he was; no matter where his blood was."

I rocked back as the implication hit home. "No. That's… that's impossible."

Only, as I thought about it, I realized it wasn't.

What Cassius was talking about was thaumaturgy. The binding and connecting of two pieces of a whole. It was something I was good at; it was what I'd been trying to do with the blood samples.

But what he was describing, the sheer scale of it… it was unheard of.

"You're not powerful enough to pull that off," I insisted. "Even with the entropy curse seeking out Shiro's blood, there's no way you could bind the pieces of the Shroud together."

"Maybe not with my power alone," Cassius said, a hint of arrogance returning to his eyes. "That's why I used yours."

"You what?" I asked numbly.

"It wasn't just the Jap's blood on the Shroud pieces," Cassius explained, his lips twisting up in amusement. "When my snakes bit you, they weren't just injecting venom; they were taking blood. Blood that I used to enrich the curse. When we decided to divide it, I used your blood to bind them."

"No," I said. "That would mean…"

That would mean that it was my power tying the pieces together. But I would have sensed that, would have—

Oh fuck.

Cassius's smile grew. "How's your head? Still dizzy?"

I looked back to Shiro, to where I'd been when the bells rang. To where I'd felt nauseous and disoriented just as the curse had struck.

Had his spell been drawing on my power? Had he just used my fucking power to activate the curse?!

I spun back to Cassius, my renewed grip on his throat threatening to break his neck. "You're lying!"

The man just gagged in response. Eventually I realized I'd need to loosen my grip if I wanted an answer.

"You know it's true," he gasped when he finally could. "You felt it."

My head swam again, this time in despair. "No. No, you wouldn't do that. Because all it would take for me to stop the spell would be to cut myself off from magic."

"Too late," he repeated. "The spell doesn't need your magic to run its course; it's drawing on the Shroud for that. All your power did was help activate it."

My heart thundered in my chest as I realized the man was telling the truth.

The dizzying sensation hadn't lasted. It'd only hit me while the spell was drawing on my power. Cutting myself off from my magic would do no good now.

And then my heart fluttered, as another thought occurred to me.

If I'd left the thorned manacles on, the curse would have failed.

"Where are they?" Murphy asked. I tried pulling my mind back from where it'd started going, but I wasn't quite there yet.

"He had them go to churches," Cassius continued, his dark eyes shifting to the woman. "If they could, they were to place the pieces close to the communion offerings."

"Communion?" Sanya asked, confused. "But it is only Saturday night. Mass won't be until tomorrow morning. We have time."

"No," Michael groaned behind me. I turned to him in time to see my friend shake his head sharply. "The Mass of Anticipation is held Saturday nights at five o'clock."

"But attendance…" Murphy said.

"Will be high," Cassius said. When I turned to him, he flinched from my gaze. "He invited the press."

The cold feeling in my veins froze solid as I realized what he was saying.

When Nicodemus had told me where the duel was to take place, I'd mouthed off about inviting the press. That once they got ahold of something, there'd be no stopping it.

It seemed he'd taken a liking to the idea.

Without realizing it, I'd made things worse.

"They spread the word of the theft to drive up attendance tonight," Michael gasped. "Harry, we have to stop this."

"You can't," Cassius said with a violent shake of his head. The man couldn't help but smile as he enjoyed his victory. "Even if you get to one or two of the pieces, you can't get them all." His eyes met mine again, before flinching away. "It's too late. The bells weren't just ringing for him.

"They were ringing for the world."


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

A worldwide plague, the likes of which humanity had never seen. Fueled by dark magic, spreading the worst diseases mankind had ever heard of. Those and more, if the little coroner was right. Triggered by a death knell that would ring in the churches where the Shroud had been stashed.

Hell's bells indeed.

And it was all my fault.

Again.

"Harry?"

Murphy's voice slowly brought me back from the dark place my mind had gone. I turned to her, and saw the desperation there. "Please, Harry. Tell me there's something. Something we can do."

My mind raced. But what could _I_ do? I was a wizard, not a magician. I couldn't conjure up the pieces of the Shroud. Couldn't summon them from across the globe. Pandora's box had been opened; there was no putting the evil back in. No stopping the horror this man had wrought. A supernatural plague invoked by twisting a symbol of faith, an object of healing, and fueling its curse with the blood of the righteous. Not to mention the potent blood of a wizard.

My blood.

My head snapped around to Cassius.

"Where is Nicodemus?"

The man flinched at the sound of my voice, but didn't answer right away. "You said you'd release me."

"I will," I spat. "Tell me."

Cassius hesitated, but as I started spreading the ice across his body again, he found his tongue. "The church! _His_ church!"

His words confused me, until I realized he was looking over my shoulder. I turned to watch as the blood fled from Michael's face. "St. Mary's," was all he said, and then he was running.

Sanya was on his heels in a second. Murphy started to turn, but hesitated to look back at me.

"Go," I told her. "I'll meet you outside."

Murphy glanced between Cassius and I. There was something there, something that told me she knew what I intended. She was at war with herself as to whether she should stop me or not.

In the end, all she said was, "Hurry."

As she turned, I faced Cassius. His already pale face blanched. "You said you'd release me."

"So I did," I replied icily. I let go of his chest so that I could seize both wrists in my hands. The man sagged down to his knees, but I held his arms up as I poured Winter into his flesh.

His eyes widened as he screamed. "You promised! You swore on your power!"

"I did," I repeated. "But I don't have the keys."

Cassius stared in horror as I squeezed on his wrists, both of which shattered like glass.

As the thorned manacles fell to the floor, I seized him by a shoulder, holding him aloft. "There. I've released you. Alive."

And before he could gather his thoughts, before he could gather any power into himself to even think about a death curse, my fist struck him in the chest. The blow shattered his ribcage, sending fragments of bone into his feebly beating heart.

He was dead before he hit the ground.

I bent over to retrieve the manacles, making sure to shake out the last of the frozen bits of flesh. After that, I retrieved my staff and started for the door, casting one last look over my shoulder.

"You should learn to be more specific when dealing with the Fae."

* * *

It felt wrong to be leaving Shiro behind, but we didn't have time. I noted that Murphy had at least draped the edges of the sheet over him before heading out. That would have to be enough for now.

By the time I made it outside, Murphy had already started the car and turned it around. I slid across the hood and all but leapt into the passenger seat as she took off. I had just enough time to see some guy yelling after us as we headed north. I couldn't hear his words over the sound of Murphy's siren.

The fairies had all piled in already, having been hesitant to cross the threshold of the church. They were sprawled across the back seat, their heads huddled together. Lacuna was up to something, but for the life of me I couldn't begin to guess what. All I knew was that each member of the Guard present looked determined, including Toot.

To my surprise, they were alone.

I looked pointedly into the back, and then to Murphy. "Where are Michael and Sanya?"

The detective shot me a grim look. "It seems they weren't willing to wait."

I looked out the back window at the shouting man just before he disappeared from sight. "Michael stole a car?!"

"Let's just say he made a civilian surrender theirs for police business," she said. When she saw my disbelieving look, her jaw tightened. "Charity was taking the kids to church tonight."

"Holy hell," I gasped.

"I just hope he doesn't kill someone getting there," she said as she reached for her the radio on the dash. My hand gripped her wrist, stopping her in the process. "What?"

"Don't," I told her.

"Harry, I have to call in backup," she said angrily. She wrenched her hand away from mine, but only to grasp the wheel to navigate around a car that was slow to respond to the siren and lights.

"What are they going to do, Murph?" I asked. "Run in and get killed by Nick and his daughter? Get infected and make things worse?"

"How about cordon off the building so that no-one gets in or out?" she snapped.

"That's only going to incite a panic," I told her. "And we don't even know how many pieces are in town; you'd have to seal off every church in Chicagoland. At that point you might as well invoke martial law."

"We can damn well do _something_ ," Murphy snarled, taking her frustration out on the only person available.

"We will," I said softly.

She cast a glance my way, her temper fading instantly. "You thought of something."

"Maybe," I said cautiously. "Either way, having cops underfoot isn't going to help matters. Especially if they get there before us."

Her grip on the steering wheel tightened. "I'm a cop, Harry. I have to report this."

I rested a hand on Murphy's shoulder. "The world doesn't need a cop right now."

Murphy blinked at that, and then glanced into the back seat where she'd put Fidelacchius. "Harry, I can't…"

"Murphy, I'm the first to admit I don't know a lot about that sort of magic," I said. "Faith magic is… it's not in my spectrum." Where's Bob when you need him? But she seemed to pick up on my meaning. "But I spent enough time around Michael to know a thing or two. I know that those Swords are meant to be used to do good." I tensed as we swerved around a corner, my knuckles white as I gripped the handle over the door. "And right now we could use all the good we can get."

I knew she wouldn't hear me. As pleasant as the last few hours had been, it didn't erase the years of distrust that had built up between us. She'd never fully trusted me even when I'd been working with her. My words weren't going to be enough to convince her.

But I knew who's would.

"Trust your heart."

The words made her gasp, and when she glanced at me again, her eyes were watering. She quickly turned back to the road, but I could tell she was considering it. Actually considering it.

Not because of me, who she'd known for years. But because of a man she'd known for only twenty-four hours. A man better than any other I'd known save for Michael. Shiro had given his life for a stranger. Not because the stranger was deserving, because I wasn't. He gave his life because he felt it was the right thing to do. To give everything he had for others. To sacrifice himself in the name of Good, if nothing else.

He might have been just a man, but sometimes that's enough.

And that man had placed his faith in her.

"What does your heart tell you?" I asked softly.

Murphy took her time answering, with the built-in excuse that she was driving through traffic like a mad woman.

"It tells me I'm not ready for that," she finally said. Her voice was filled with doubt and worry and a dash of despair. I'd seen eyes like hers before, the eyes of those that knew they were in way over their head.

But before I could say anything to reassure her, she added. "But maybe I could hold on to it. For tonight."

I nodded. "Nobody's asking for anything else."

Murphy nodded sharply at that, and then concentrated on not killing us. I let her do that, seeing as I'd already hit my weekly quota for car wrecks.

The journey to St. Mary's took just shy of forever. I don't know if they planned on it or not, but the Denarians had picked the most damned place to stage their ritual. St. Stephens was only twenty minutes or so from St. Mary's, but when you factored in downtown traffic on Saturday evening, it might as well have been double that. At least it wasn't rush hour on Friday.

The police light and siren helped, as did the fact that the way had already been traversed by a good man in fear for his family. We passed several cars that had already pulled over as Michael blazed past. When we finally got north of the Loop and were closing in on St. Mary's, we could just make out Michael's taillights in the distance.

But we weren't the only car with flashing lights trailing in his wake.

"Shit," Murphy said.

"He's almost there," I told her. "They won't catch him before—"

"The officers will shoot as soon as Michael and Sanya climb out of the squad car," Murphy growled. "What would _you_ do if you saw two armed men running into a church?"

I looked from her to the squad car a block closer than we were. "Maybe you should have called it in."

"You think?!" she practically screamed.

"Since when did you start listening to me?!"

Her response was a curse as the sedan bounced through an uneven intersection. It would have been fine at normal speeds, but the landing was jarring as we sped recklessly toward the church.

Murphy grabbed for the radio attached below the dash, quickly calling dispatch to advise them of the situation. It didn't sound like the operator on the other end actually believed what she was saying, but as it was the commander of Special Investigations calling in the threat, they couldn't exactly question her.

We were still waiting for confirmation that the squad car in pursuit of Michael had received the message when the block-long St. Mary's complex came into sight.

The chapel was on the north end of the long city block, while administrative and community rooms sat in another building on the southern end. The two were connected by a long hall, with a parking lot situated between them.

The southern-most building was finally in sight, and after one more light, we were within a block. I could see up ahead where Michael had already come to a halt outside the main doors of the church at the north end. The squad car in pursuit was just skidding to a stop behind him as my friend emerged from the vehicle, his white cloak billowing out behind him as he charged up the steps.

"Damnit. I'm supposed to be the one with the billowing wardrobe— _whoa!_ " I shouted. My comment went unnoticed as Murphy swerved up onto the curb, the suspension bouncing roughly as we tore down the sidewalk. Before I could ask her what she was doing, she slammed on the breaks, causing her car to skid sideways.

My eyes were wide as I looked out my side window at the patrol cop, who in turn stared at us as we came perilously close to hitting him. I noted that his gun was drawn, but his aim had shifted to us, rather than at the retreating backs of Michael and Sanya.

And then the sedan rocked as it came to a complete stop mere inches from the cop car. Murphy was out before I could blink, her badge in hand. "Detective Murphy with S.I.! Stand down!"

"Are you nuts?!" the other cop shouted, but at least he lowered his gun. I took the opportunity to open my door, which required him to step back. His gaze was near manic as he watched me struggle to extract myself and my staff.

"Sorry, late for the costume party," I said apologetically as I climbed out. I didn't wait for his reply, turning and running after the others as the office gaped.

The cop started to shout something, but Murphy cut him off. "There's an emergency inside. Those men are with me. We need to cordon off the building, to keep anyone else from going in…"

I missed the rest as I charged up the steps, my stride letting me take three at a time. The power of the Winter Knight mantle helped me move faster than humanly possible, and I charged through the first set of doors, only to come to a screeching halt.

The entrance to St. Mary's was a set of several doors at the top of the steps which lead into a small narrow room. A narthax, I think they call it. It's nothing more than a space where people can shake their umbrellas out before entering into the sanctuary. On the other side of the hallway were more doors, all of which were closed.

The Knights never made it to the second set of doors.

Michael lay on the stone floor to the left of the center door. Rends had been torn into his white cloak, and I had no doubt that the armor he wore had been the only thing to spare his life.

Sanya stood over his fallen friend, his Sword in hand as he stared at a beast unlike anything I'd seen before.

It was more feline than anything, although even calling it that was a stretch of the imagination. The beast was bigger than any dog I'd ever heard of, although its musculature was lean. Its dark flesh was hairless, and looked more like worked leather than natural skin. The thing's head was a mishmash of jaguar and wild boar, with tusks and fangs glinting in the light from the Sword.

There was something else odd about it, although it took my brain a moment to recognize what it was. A hazy steam seemed to be rising from its flesh. At first I thought it might be some trait of the creature, but only belatedly realized that its dark leathery skin was on the verge of bursting into flame.

No wonder it'd been left in the narthax. The threshold of the church was burning it alive.

As I stepped forward, the creature turned toward me, unleashing a hiss-roar that did little to settle my mind on a species for it. Sanya shifted forward when its attention was diverted, but the beast moved with ungainly speed, swiping a long clawed paw in his direction as it stepped sideways.

"What is this?" Sanya asked, not daring to take his eyes off the thing.

"How the hell should _I_ know?" I grumbled.

"I thought you wizards knew everything," he replied with a tense smile, surprising me with a sense of humor I hadn't previously seen in our interactions.

"Right. Forgot for a moment," I said as I stepped up beside him. "These are called narthaguars. They live in urban jungles and prey on the wily jackalope."

Apparently I wasn't at my most convincing. "It's okay if you don't know."

I scoffed at the man. "Admit my ignorance? They'd take my wizard license away."

Michael had managed to pick himself up by then. "We don't have time for this," he said tersely, his eyes on the other doors. The narthaguar tracked his gaze and shifted closer to the inner portals, as if intent on keeping us out.

"Sure don't," I said, before lowering my staff. " _Arctis hasta!_ "

The spiraling spear of ice sprung from the tip of the staff as power poured into the soot-streaked wood. I thrust it forward as it was still forming, moving with the grace of the Winter Knight mantle. The narthaguar tried flinching away, but it didn't have the supernatural speed necessary to avoid the tip.

My strength drove the icy spear into the creature's shoulder, pinning it to the wall between the doors. As it screamed its furious call, Sanya slipped forward and buried his Sword in its neck.

The narthaguar died instantly as tiny white flames burst out across its skin.

"Right then," I said, looking to the Knights as I snapped the frozen spearhead off of my staff. "Shall we try this again?"

Michael nodded, drawing his own Sword and stepping to my side. Sanya flicked his blade to remove the gore from the creature, and then the three of us stepped to the inner doors. A gust of wind from my staff blew them open, snapping an unseen lock in two, and we stepped inside together.

A nightmare awaited us.

I couldn't say for sure if the Denarians' efforts at increasing attendance had worked or not. There were several dozen worshipers in attendance, but I couldn't say if that was a normal crowd or not for a Saturday night. I wasn't big on mass in general, but giving up a weekend night? No way.

The sanctuary at St. Mary's is large; it was a little shorter than a football field, but just as wide. The pews could seat over a thousand and still leave everyone with plenty of elbow room. With only a few dozen worshipers present, the place looked almost empty. Somehow I found it reassuring that not many had attended that night; things could have been a lot worse.

That was little comfort to those that lay sprawled in the rows and isles, dead and dying.

"Holy Father," Michael said, crossing himself as we entered. His tread slowed down as he looked over one of the victims closest to us. Sanya did as well, both observing the boils and blisters spreading across the worshipers' skin. Their breathing was shallow and haggard, their eyes desperate for relief from the suffering.

I continued on. I'd seen it before, and knew how their story would end if we didn't do something quick.

The curse was potent, perhaps working _too_ fast. Plagues were most dangerous when they acted slowly, allowing the infected to spread the contagion among the masses before the danger was realized. But it seemed that this one was going to kill those it came into contact with far too quickly to be spread by normal means.

I could feel it working at me already. A sweat broke out across my brow, and my steps wavered for a moment as a dizzying sensation hit me. I hadn't been expecting that.

Thankfully the mantle knew what to do. My gate steadied as a cold sensation crept through my veins. The perspiration on my head froze as a thin layer of frost spread over me again. The cold would do what it could to keep the plethora of diseases at bay.

They didn't keep those things in cold storage for nothing.

I continued on, my eyes training on the lone figure standing at the front. The dark haired man wearing a tan trench-coat was looking toward the alter in front of him.

As I approached, Nicodemus turned, looking back over his shoulder with mild amusement. "Harry. Glad you could make it."

My steps slowed as I realized I was mistaken. I'd thought that Nicodemus was alone, but as he turned, I caught a glimpse of a man standing beyond him. There was just the barest hint of a youthful face surrounded by golden locks. A furious face with fierce eyes. The sight of him threw me for a second. I blinked, trying to focus my vision.

But when I looked again, I realized I must have been imagining it. The demon stood alone.

"I think I'd prefer it if you went back to calling me Mr. Dresden, Nick," I said, my stride carrying me past the outstretching arms of those in agony.

That seemed to disappoint the Denarian, as his face grew slack. His gaze drifted past me. "I can't say I'm pleased at your choice of companions."

The sanctuary was well lit, a golden yellow light filling the space and leaving little in the way of shadows. My eyes drifted to the man's own, which was sprawled out around him. Maybe I was imagining it, but it looked paler than it'd been previously. And if I wasn't mistaken, it looked as if the shadow were hovering an inch _over_ the floor, rather than lying upon it.

Perhaps the narthaguar wasn't the only thing feeling the heat from the church's threshold.

"I'm surprised to see you on holy ground," I observed as my eyes rose to meet his.

"I walk hand in hand with an angel," Nicodemus replied righteously. "What could be more holy than that?"

"Doesn't seem like your scene."

"It was. Once," the man said, his eyes drifting up to take in the beautiful architecture.

"Why don't we find somewhere a little more to your liking," I offered with a smile. "How does hell sound?"

Nicodemus made a disappointed sound as his eyes dropped back to me. "A little on the nose, don't you think?"

My free hand drifted up to my ear as I cocked my head to the side. "I'm sorry, did you say a little tug on the noose?"

The man's humor fled in an instant as he turned to me. "That's close enough."

I was still ten yards away, but the shadow seemed to think that was entirely too close. The darkness gathered between us, although I noticed it still looked thin.

At that distance, I could see the suit he wore beneath his trench-coat. If not the same as he'd worn before, it was similar enough. The noose-tie around his neck was the same, as was the sword sheathed at his hip.

The white cloth tied around his waist was new, though.

"I thought you guys cut that up?" I asked, momentarily confused.

Nicodemus looked puzzled as well for a moment, before his eyes widened. "Ah. I take it Cassius won't be joining us?"

"Nah," I said with a shake of my head. "He sent us on ahead. Was real broken up about missing it." I shrugged. "I mean, he just went to _pieces_."

Nicodemus didn't seem to appreciate that either. "Unfortunate," he said simply, his eyes drifting over my shoulder as the Knights arrived. "But inconsequential. What we've set into motion cannot be undone."

"Madness," Michael rumbled, his voice deep and unforgiving. "You not only blasphemy this holy ground with your presence, but you defile the Earth with your insanity. All for nothing."

"Not nothing," Nicodemus said, his hands crossing behind his back as he faced Michael. "For progress."

"Progress?" I asked. I wasn't all _that_ curious; not with time of the essence. But I was willing to let him run his mouth while I tried to figure out a way to get the Shroud from him. From appearances, it too looked thinner than it had before. Maybe Cassius had been telling the truth after all.

"Fear. Desperation. Chaos," Nicodemus said easily, as if naming virtues. The plague didn't seem to be affecting him, the bastard. "As I said, progress."

"Madness," Michael repeated, stepping forward with Amoracchius raised before him. The light from its blade was almost blinding. "But I will put an end to both it and you."

Nicodemus's eyes drifted between the three of us as we stepped forward. The Knights had stepped to either side, working to box in the demon. Escaping would prove difficult, as the only way out was through us. There were doors to the rear of the apse behind him, but I don't think he could outrun me.

"It seems I am outnumbered," Nicodemus observed, although he still wasn't as concerned as he should be. "That hardly seems fair."

"I'll show you fair, demon," Michael thundered, his voice furious. It was enough to draw my head around, shocked at the sound of it. I found his face twisted with hate, something I'd never seen in the man before.

And for some reason, it terrified me.

"And what will you do, Knight?" Nicodemus asked, his tone mocking. "Perhaps I should give up my coin here and now. What would you do then?"

An inhuman growl rumbled up from within Michael, and for a moment I worried that I'd have to restrain him. As angry as he was, I don't think Nicodemus surrendering would be enough for Michael, regardless of what he'd said back at St. Joseph's.

From my experience with the Sword, I knew it had a weakness. If it were used with impure intentions, the blade would fail. Become vulnerable. In that state, it could be unmade. I wasn't sure if it was permanent or not, but it didn't sound good.

In his rage, I momentarily worried that Michael might go too far.

But despite his fury, my friend did not attack. Nicodemus gave him a long moment, just to be sure. When he saw that the Knight would not be misusing the Sword, he simply shrugged. "Very well. We will do it the hard way."

"Not as hard as you think," Michael growled, beginning to advance.

"Careful," Nicodemus said in a warning tone, his hand drifting to the hilt of his own sword while taking a slight step back. "You don't want to start anything with your family so close at hand, do you?"

The demon's smile grew as he turned to look past Sanya, toward the front row of the pews to the right. We looked as well, and my friend gasped when he spotted his children all huddled together.

"Molly!" he said, running toward them. Sanya and I stayed where we were, but Nicodemus showed no inclination to make a run for it.

"Dad," the young girl cried, her voice trying for brave but sounding just this side of desperate. As her father approached, her eyes widened. "We're fine! Don't come any closer!"

Michael stumbled to a halt, his eyes drifting down to look at them. I did as well, my own eyes widening at what I saw.

Molly seemed to have drawn all of the kids to her on the floor in front of the pew. The next eldest, Daniel, held some of his younger siblings close, while Molly held the rest. They were in a tight bunch, to keep from breaking the circle that had been dribbled around them.

"What is this?" Michael asked, confused. My sight shifted as the mantle telescoped my vision using the frost on my eye. When it focused, I realized someone had poured what looked like several shades of nail polish in a circle around the siblings.

"Just something I'd read," his eldest daughter said, sounding embarrassed. "I'm not sure it's doing any good, though."

I blinked in surprise as I realized that Michael's daughter had tried making an empowered circle to protect them.

Unfortunately, it seemed the girl's concern was valid. Despite her efforts, I could see the sores forming on their flesh. They looked better than some of the others present, but they hadn't escaped the curse.

"I was surprised as you are," Nicodemus said with some mild amusement. "To think, Michael Carpenter's daughter turning to magic rather than faith."

"Bastard!" Michael bellowed, twisting back toward the Denarian. "You did this to strike at me?! To strike at my family?!"

Nicodemus blinked. "My. Whatever made you think that? It's not all about _you_ , Sir Knight."

As he finished speaking, a loud bang sounded off to one side. I turned to look beyond Michael, toward the northern transept. It was the front wing of the church, a squared off alcove to one side of the room. A door in the back corner led off to the back rooms, and as we watched, four figures appeared from within.

"Charity!" Michael gasped, his face paling as he spotted his wife being held by the metallic skinned demon. Two sets of glowing eyes shined out as Deirdre looked over the gathering at the front of the church. Steel tendrils were wrapped around Charity's neck. I could see several trickles of blood dripping down from where she'd already been cut.

"I'm alright," the blond woman assured her husband. Her eyes drifted toward me, but didn't linger. Even in that moment of desperate danger, there was no disguising the hate she felt for me.

Charity Carpenter was a large woman, but in a good way. Despite having a litter of children, she was fit and strong. If it weren't for Deirdre's metallic skin and flesh, I had no doubt the blond woman could tear the smaller in half.

"Not for long," Deirdre mused as she strode forward, her skin surprisingly dull in the church lights. Her eyes drifted to me. "Hello, wizard. I'm so _glad_ you made it."

Just like her father's shadow, there was something off about her transformation. Something subtle. It seemed the Denarians weren't faring much better than the narthaguar had within the church's threshold. Her flesh was mottled, and I could almost see some rust forming along some of her sharper edges.

"You're going to want to get a tetanus shot after this is over," I said to Charity.

The blond didn't seem amused.

Neither did Deirdre, as both sets of eyes narrowed. "So very glad indeed. I _hate_ leaving loose ends."

"Yeah, I think we left things unsettled," I replied darkly. "How about we square up now?"

The slight woman's glowing eyes widened. "Oh, I would love that. But I'm afraid someone else has first claim on you."

The other two with them came into sight as they stepped to the side of the women. As they did, my own eyes widened. I was surprised to see Father Forthill in the grasp of one of Nicodemus's tongueless henchmen. The latter stared at me with pure loathing, which was somewhat surprising, as I'd never met him before.

As they approached, the thug threw Forthill to the side. The old man landed painfully, but was quick to look to us with shame in his eyes. "I'm sorry. I had no choice. They threatened to kill her."

"What are you—" I began, but stopped when the thug continued to advance toward me, his bland face twisting up in pure hate. Which I _really_ didn't understand. I mean sure, I tend to piss people off. It's kind of my thing. But I couldn't recall doing anything to this particular miscreant.

It didn't make sense until he was about six feet away, when a pair of glowing eyes appeared on his forehead.

"Oh shit," I managed to get out, before the man's flesh erupted as he transformed. His already large body tripled in size as dark hair sprung out from his flesh. What had been a man's face twisted into a nightmarish muzzle of sharp teeth, as curling horns sprung from either side of his head. Glowing hot claws sizzled as his arms seemed to split in half, before thickening into four muscled limbs.

"This seems more fair," Nicodemus mused behind us.

And for the second time in just a few short days, the Fallen angel named Ursiel leapt toward me in a righteous fury, even as the others all sprung into motion, saints and sinners alike intent on sending each other to meet their maker.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

It was right about then that I really started missing my shield bracelet and rods.

If the Fallen angel known as Ursiel was feeling limited within the church's threshold, it wasn't apparent. I could see the steam rising from his flesh, much like it had the narthaguar. But it didn't seem to phase the demon, as the man-bear-pig leapt at me with breathtaking agility and speed, his four arms spread wide. He certainly didn't look any smaller than he had in the alley, but boy was he more determined to kill me.

A thicker coating of ice was already spreading across my body as I tensed, readying myself for his attack. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nicodemus dart toward Sanya, while Michael squared off against the Denarian holding his wife hostage. But I couldn't spare them any thought; my attention was on the pissed off Denarian closing on me.

" _Forzare!_ " I shouted, aiming my staff down at the polished stone floor in front of me. The spell was angled, and wasn't designed to attack. I needed to put some distance between me and Fugly; the spell helped with that, as it boosted my backwards leap.

It just didn't do enough.

As I soared backwards, Ursiel's arms lashed out. While his first attempt at grinding me into pulp missed, he turned the motion into a quick backhand. His reach was impossibly long, and managed to clip me as I tried to escape.

While only a glancing blow, it was enough to send me spinning through the air over the pews and worshipers at the front. I barely missed the first ornate column on the left-hand side, but successfully glanced off the second one.

My left shoulder hit the pillar, and I felt a distinct popping sensation as pain blossomed across my neck and side before my momentum spun me around the post. My staff slipped from my grip somewhere along the way, clattering into the rows of pews.

At least I'd begun my descent when I finally hit the far wall, which was just as pleasant as it sounds.

Glass fell around me as the impact shattered a couple of the small windows overhead. I tried rising, but the pulsing pain in my arm was disorienting.

A furious bellow erupted as Ursiel leapt once again, his movement more apelike than ursine as he hurtled over the pews. He crashed through the same column I'd clipped, the paster and wood splintering beneath his weight. My vision was just beginning to clear as he descended toward me, his uppermost arms grabbing at the low ceiling of the alcove to swing his massive feet forward. I had maybe a split second before he'd land, crushing me beneath his bulk.

" _Forzare!_ " I cried again, putting my newfound breath to good use. My right hand thrust up at Ursiel as I unleashed the spell, a wild and uncontrolled burst of power lashing out.

Without my staff to help me temper it, the magic swirled about in a savage whirlwind. It wasn't my most powerful incantation; I hadn't had time to pull enough power in to put any real force behind it. But the raging wind was enough to push the demon to his right, while simultaneously propelling me across the slick floor to his left.

The Denarian landed much like a freight train would, albeit with slightly more agility. The wall and floor shattered upon impact, sending shards of marble every which way. But the demon recovered depressingly quick, and I hadn't yet managed to stand as he turned my way and prepared for another charge. My left arm wasn't working, and I had the distinct suspicion that the mantle was the only thing keeping the searing pain of a dislocated shoulder at bay.

I was just beginning to wonder how I was going to get myself out of this one when a squadron of furious fairies made an attack run on the Death Bear.

" _Pizza!_ " came the curious battle-cry as the first three glowing spheres of light swooped toward the Denarian. Before Ursiel could recognize the threat, Toot and two other members of my Guard released their payloads.

I think the Denarian might have blinked in surprise as he spotted the three water balloons hurtling toward him. I know I did, so I can't really blame him. I mean, who's going to bring water balloons to a desperate fight between good and evil?

Dewdrop fairies, that's who.

Wiley, cunning dewdrop fairies bearing fat, over-sized water balloons.

Filled with holy water.

When the first balloon broke over Ursiel's face, the holy water splashed across his skin, burning the demon's flesh like acid. An agonized bellow echoed off the walls as the already smoking surface of the Denarian just disintegrated, exposing livid red tissue and white bone as it chewed its way through his form. Both of its mortal eyes disappeared in an explosion of wet gore, while the upper set sizzled and smoked.

The scream warbled when the second and third balloons hit his mouth and neck respectively. Two of his hands flew up to shield himself from the unexpected assault. The other two arms flailed about helplessly, trying to strike at the fairies. But the first three had swept past him and circled back around, making room for the second strike team to come in fast.

As one of the first three circled around to land on my right shoulder, I watched the second squad soar around the demon's flailing arms, before pulling the strings on what looked to be party poppers.

But instead of glitter and streamers, the small plastic toys ejected sparkling bits of white crystal.

"Salt?" I asked dumbly as the grains burst across the Denarian's head and shoulders.

"Blessed salt," Toot said smartly from my shoulder.

"Ah," I said with an ignorant nod.

"Apparently the white collars use it in their soccer mitts and on vacations."

It took me a second. "You mean sacraments and invocations."

The tiny fairy blinked at me. "That's what I said."

While I was busy translating dewdrop linguistics, Ursiel was stumbling about, his searing claws raking at his own flesh as he tried to dig out the salt that clung to his burns. I'd experienced literal salt in the wound before myself, but nothing like what the blessed grains seemed to be doing to the demon.

Two more waves had struck as Toot and I watched on. More holy water was joined by blessed salt, leaving the demon thrashing about in agony. Between Toot's assault and the threshold of the church, the Denarian was struggling to maintain its form. The hairs on its ursine body had caught fire, tiny white flames flickering across its flesh. It slammed into the wall, before careening to the other side of the pathway, crashing into the pews.

With Ursiel momentarily distracted, I reached out, holding my hand low to the floor. " _Ventas Servitas!_ "

I heard a series of banging and clacking noises as my staff responded to my summons, sliding under the pews and spinning about until it finally snapped into my waiting palm. As soon as the soot-streaked wood was in my grasp, I aimed it toward the demon that was just beginning to recover.

The glowing eyes on his forehead were the only recognizable feature on the face. Everything else had been burned away, leaving not much more than a bloody skull that roared in defiance. Those burning eyes flashed with rage as I unleashed the power I'd been gathering while talking to Toot. " _Infriga forzare!_ "

The combo spell shot forward, a torrent of arctic wind swirling toward the Denarian. Glass and marble shrapnel swept toward Ursiel, the materials cutting his flesh as if they too were blessed. Being part of the church's construction, they might very well have been.

The blast of air was followed by a drop in temperature, one that left every surface between us in ice as it slammed into the demon. The force of it sent Ursiel flying backwards, tumbling through the air much like I must have after his strike. And just like I had, he slammed painfully into the corner of the southern transept, before disappearing into the shadows of the rear alcove.

As I stool, I staggered. The movement caused a spasm of pain to burst through the numbing sensation of the mantle. My shoulder was definitely dislocated. But even though I'd bought myself some time, I knew the demon wasn't finished.

My eyes drifted to the wall. "If Riggs can do it, so can I."

Toot fluttered off of my right shoulder as I stumbled toward the wall, before pressing the left one against the smooth surface. With a grunt that turned into a scream, I slammed the shoulder into the wall. There was another popping sensation accompanied by a grinding one, and then I was on my knees as the pain overtook me.

"Harry?" Toot called as he hovered beside my head. "I think you're going to want to get up."

"Just a second," I replied in a decent soprano.

"Maybe sooner," Toot replied urgently.

I managed to look up as Ursiel appeared in the distance, two of his arms bracing himself up between wall and column. The ice and force spell had shredded him head to toe, leaving bloody gouges in his flesh. Steam curled up around him, giving him the appearance of something freshly emerged from the depths of hell. His blood dripped freely, sizzling on the church floor as if it were a hot pan.

But despite the damage, the Denarian was still standing.

And even worse, it looked like he was getting ready to charge.

"I don't suppose you have any more salt or water?" I asked as I pushed myself up, leaning on my staff to do so.

"The others took the rest," Toot said. "The Officer Knight said they needed our help."

A glance off to the right revealed that a swarm of glowing spheres were soaring around the others still at the front of the church. "Great," I muttered.

"You can handle this one, my lord," Toot said reassuringly.

Easy to say. Harder to believe.

But as the mantle once again numbed the pain I was feeling, I stood, facing down the hellish thing.

"You know what?" I said, straightening up. "You're right."

Toot drifted away as I started drawing in more power. Power from within, and power from without. The power of the mantle, combined with the power in the world around me. More power than I'd summoned in quite a while, letting it build up inside me.

The frost covering me thickened as I channeled some of the power into armor. Plate mail resembling that which Michael wore formed across my chest, albeit made of ice rather than steel. Breastplate and gauntlets, pauldrons and cuisse, each piece forming with the grinding sound of an arctic glacier. Greaves flowed over my shins as a helm formed around my head.

While it might have mirrored Michael's armor, it was nowhere near as noble and righteous. The ice was a blue so dark it might as well have been black. Jagged spikes sprung from its surface, giving it a sinister shape.

A small whirlwind formed around me, gathering up more of the broken glass and marble. The shards swirled about, before snapping toward me. Some lay flat across the armor, forming a mosaic over the ice. Other pieces sank in, leaving jagged edges jutting out. Wicked blades of ice formed in the gaps, the razor sharp edges glinting in the light.

In moments, I was covered top to bottom in an all-encasing armor that made my entire body a weapon.

Because that's what I was.

I was the Winter Fucking Knight.

And it was time I showed them all just what that meant.

I screamed as I burst into motion, a furious bellow that was returned by the demon as it started forward. Ice flowed up around my staff, the surface glinting in the light as more broken glass worked its way into the coating.

As Ursiel charged, I snapped my staff down, using it to pole vault myself forward. When the timing was right, I released the weapon, shooting up from the ground. My boots flew at the demon's head, sharp icicles forming on the soles only an instant before they sliced into the remains of his face.

The unexpected blow rocked the demon back, and I bent at the knees, using the impact to propel me into a back-flip. I fell into a crouch, the icicles on my boots breaking as I landed on my feet. While Ursiel was still reeling from the blow, I darted forward, my hands growing claws that burned with a cold that rivaled his heated talons.

I stepped to one side as I slashed at him, my claws shredding his flesh and leaving a trail of steaming frost. The demon screamed again as the cold seeped into his veins, and he swung his massive arms around in retaliation, trying to pummel me.

But while the demon was stronger than I'd ever be, he didn't have my speed. Not when every movement I made was enhanced by a strategic burst of air that hastened my journey. I ducked beneath a lumbering blow, dragging my claws along the limb in the process. When it had passed me by, I twisted and swiped again, leaving more gouges along his side and back.

Around and around I went, ducking and slashing. The demon did his best to catch me, but he couldn't keep up. I was a whirlwind of ice and death, tearing his flesh from his body with every movement. Even when he got close, my armor would inflict more pain, as the glass and marble cut deep.

A swift kick to the back of one leg staggered him, finally bringing him down to a knee. Exhausted by the unending onslaught, Ursiel was slow to recover. He started to turn toward me, but he was just too slow. I was already leaping up toward him, and as I braced one hand on his turning bicep, I snapped my knee into the back of his head, driving the razor sharp poleyn into the base of his skull.

The blow did more damage than anything yet. As he toppled forward, I pushed off of him, completing another back-flip to land on my feet behind him. When he collapsed to the ground, I summoned my staff to me with nothing more than a thought, the pale ice-covered wood leaping through the air.

Ursiel tried pushing himself up, but that last attack had been brutal. I could see where his skull had fractured, and whatever passed for demonic brains threatened to spill out the back. His movements weren't much more than uncontrolled spasms, as the host within the beastly form began to die.

Stepping forward, I planted a foot on his back and shoved him down. Stone tile cracked beneath him as his breath burst from his ruined maw.

A slim icy blade formed on the thin end of my staff as I jabbed it down at him. The blade pierced all the way through him, the glass and marble upon it burning the demon from within. I left the staff buried inside him, standing upright on its own.

"I guess you proved me right," I said softly, leaning onto the spear. "Size _doesn_ _'_ _t_ really matter."

The demon gurgled something in response, but I paid him no mind. Instead, I focused on pouring more magic from the mantle down the staff, freezing his insides. While that worked its way through him, I gathered my own magic, readying it for a final blow.

And then I screamed as I unleashed it, letting it burst out the end of the staff and into the demon's body. My scream changed into the name of the destructive force that had laid waste to the hotel, all of it focused into one attack, on one opponent.

" _Merus Hiems!_ "

There was something like a pop in the air. It was followed by an explosive blast as the raw and unadulterated power of Winter burst from within the demon. The force of it was enough to send me flying back, even as a metric ton of demon flesh exploded beneath me.

I spun through the air, the staff still with me not because of my grip, but because of the ice that had formed around it and my hand. The instincts of the mantle kicked in, making me spin about to land facing away from the carnage, in the direction of the others.

Frozen chunks of Denarian rained down as I crouched at the front of the church, staring toward Nicodemus and Deirdre, both of who's attention was quite suddenly transfixed on little ol' me.

"Next," I growled.

Shocked by the sudden and brutal end to the demon, the others had all froze — no, not literally — as one, an odd tableau forming before me. It gave me a moment to take stock of the situation, to see what I'd missed while Ursiel had been keeping me busy.

I could see that Sanya was down, a wound to one leg bleeding profusely onto the marble floor. I assumed Nicodemus was to blame, as the top half of his sword was slick with blood. Nick himself looked like he'd seen better days. After falling, Sanya had opened up with the assault rifle, leaving Nicodemus's coat and suit riddled with bullet holes.

That he was alive would have to be considered a miracle, if it weren't for the protective properties of the twisted tie he wore. Instead, he was ready for a fight, as was his writhing shadow.

Further back stood Michael, who was keeping himself between Deirdre and his family. Somehow he'd managed to safely extract Charity from Deirdre's clutches, and I wondered if the dozen fairies hovering around the Denarian had anything to do with that. Regardless, my friend's clothing had been shredded from head to toe, with dozens of red stains marking the places where Deirdre had landed blows against him.

When I looked to the demoness herself, I was surprised to see her metallic skin had faded away in several spots. Even as I watched, the pale flesh slowly began to transform again, although it was slow going. My guess was that the broken remnants of holy water balloons scattered across the floor had something to do with that.

Murphy had finally entered at some point, and had managed to get Forthill away from the fight. I noted one of her arms was bleeding, her long sleeve shirt soaked in red. Presumably that was from a swipe of Deirdre's hair, which still waived about the demoness' head.

I could see where a few cops had arrived, and had begun carrying the churchgoers from the action at the front. They were the first to recover, bursting back into motion as they hastily pulled the civilians away.

Nicodemus's eyes shifted from the remnants of Ursiel to me. "That's inconvenient," he said, frowning as he realized he and his daughter were once again outnumbered.

"I've not yet begun to inconvenience," I replied with a cruel sneer, before bursting into motion.

Before I moved, I struck the floor with my staff, unleashing a spell that created a funnel of air around it. It whipped across the marble floor, before shooting up toward the large dome overhead. As it went, I shifted my staff into my left hand and started forward, pacing myself.

Nicodemus braced for the attack, his sword swinging around defensively as I picked up speed. I could have charged full-tilt, moving at a rate he'd be hard pressed to match. Despite his experience and invulnerability, Nicodemus did not benefit from an inhuman grace or speed.

No, Nicodemus wasn't the threat. His _shadow_ was, and as far as I knew, I had nothing in my repertoire that could counter it. I doubted my talent in fire magic would burn a creature that could channel hellfire; the strengths of the mantle, air and cold and darkness, didn't seem like the solution to an even greater darkness.

As far as I'd seen, the only things that were a threat to the Denarian's shadow were holy objects. And I was fresh out of those as his shadow shot forward to meet me, dark tendrils seeking to ensnare me before I could kill the man.

The thing was, I'd seen that trick already. I knew what was coming.

Which is why my wind funnel had shattered the painted glass of the dome overhead, leaving its shards to fall down around us as we closed upon one another.

As the shadows reached for me, they were met with a shower of blessed glass that cut through the tendrils of darkness, dissolving them as the light of the Swords reflected off the shards.

Nicodemus's eyes widened in shock as his shadow broke apart like mist around my advancing form. The Denarian clearly wasn't expecting his shadow to fail, but he reacted as well as any mortal could. His sword shot toward me, the steel of the blade more than enough to pierce the Fae-based magic of my armor.

Unfortunately for him, I was no mortal. Fueled by the mantle's speed, my staff snapped up and around, deflecting the blade away. As the steel met the fairy ice, it tore through it with ease. But the frigid coating did its job, diminishing the force behind the blow. When the sword struck the wood, it barely scratched the surface, before my enhanced strength knocked the blade away.

With his last line of defense countered, my right hand shot toward Nicodemus's neck, the frozen claws closing about his noose as the wide-eyed man tried to retreat. I rode him down, releasing my staff so that I could reach for him with my other hand as well.

Just as my left hand closed on the Shroud around his waist, a livid scream pierced the air, and a writhing mass of steel blades flew into my face.

Thin tendrils of metal lashed all over my armored body, the steel cutting through the ice with disturbing ease as Deirdre slammed into me. The mantle tried to replenish the protective coating from below, the layers thickening even as the outer surface was shaved away.

The demoness didn't escape the exchange unscathed either. As her hairs whipped across my armor, the church glass and marble shards cut at them, destroying them just as they had Ursiel's flesh. When her body crashed into mine, more fragments pierced her metallic skin. It phased her little, as her rage drove her to ignore the injuries.

The impact separated me from Nicodemus, my grip on the noose slipping as his daughter concentrated her attack on that arm. My left hand held fast to the Shroud, though, and I felt a tearing sensation ripple through the thin cloth before the demoness drove me backwards.

" _Forzare!_ " I screamed, my right arm turning toward the metal-fleshed woman. Raw power sent her backwards, but her hairs snapped down into marble and wood to give her purchase. Rather than being sent hurtling like Ursiel had earlier, the demoness pivoted to the ground a few meters away, her four eyes glaring balefully at me as she prepared to throw herself forward again.

Knowing my armor wouldn't hold up under a second such attack, I thrust my hand at her a second time, unleashing a second spell. " _Arctis aer!_ "

The magic flowed out of me, focusing primarily on my target area. The temperature at the front of the church dropped fast, the air around the demoness cooling almost twenty degrees per second as she started forward. With the power concentrated in a tight funnel, the effect wasn't as great further out, which meant that I didn't kill everyone all at once.

As Deirdre tried launching herself toward me, the cold took root in her flesh. The sonic boom from the sudden temperature drop was accompanied by a shrieking sound as her metal skin froze. Her lithe tendrils all stiffened, as did her limbs only moments later.

"Ice, ice baby," I snickered as the woman's movement slowed to a standstill. Within seconds, she looked like a furious statue. Only her eyes showed any movement, as the light emanating from within them began to grow brighter.

I glanced toward Nicodemus, who had pivoted to defend against an attack from Michael. The blades of the two were swirling back and forth, my friend fighting desperately to find a gap in the ancient man's defense. His wounds were slowing him, and I knew he'd need help before long.

I quickly wound the Shroud around my wrist as I started to draw in more power. Maybe I could hit Nicodemus from behind, giving Michael the chance he needed to end things. But my attention was drawn back to Dierdre as an ambient light began to shine from beneath the ice coating her.

"Oh, come on," I growled, as the same heat that had burned in Ursiel's claws began to melt the frost holding Deirdre in place. If the look on her face was any indication, the heat was hurting her just as much as it was the ice, but she wouldn't have to bare it for long. Not at the rate the frost was melting.

Frowning, I extended my hand toward her again. " _Forzare!_ " I shouted, sending another kinetic spell down and out. But rather than aiming directly at her, I'd sent my power down toward the floor. The wind bounced off the marble, carrying the shards of glass with it as it then curled toward the Denarian.

I could see where the ice enclosing her had already started melting in several places. The shards of blessed glass found those exposed areas, striking her steel flesh at piercing speeds. Sharp edges bit into her mottled skin, causing the Denarian to scream in pain from a dozen flesh wounds.

Unfortunately, no large piece found its way into her jugular, so the demon was still breathing when the power subsided. But at least it had weakened her, causing the ice-melting heat to fade from her body. If I sent another cold snap in her direction, it just might freeze the shards into place, trapping her within.

I took aim, preparing to unleash another wave of arctic air. But a flicker of shadow drew my attention, and I had just enough time to take a startled breath before a wall of darkness slammed into me.

"Enough," Nicodemus said gruffly from somewhere beyond the veil of shadow that wrapped around my head. The darkness itself propelled me into the wall, a jarring impact that hurt from head to toe. Inky black wrapped around my wrists and neck, restraining me as the world faded away, until there was nothing but shadow upon shadow.

"I hoped that we might come to an arrangement," Nicodemus said from beyond. "You have such potential."

It sounded as if the duel between him and Michael had finished, as I could no longer hear their swords crashing together. But I couldn't see anything, as the shadow wrapped around my face.

"I've said it before," I gasped, the shadow around my throat making speech difficult. I tried pulling my arms apart, but the shadows held them fast. "I've already made my deal with a devil."

"So you have," Nicodemus said, sounding entirely too close for comfort. "I suppose the prophecy was right after all. Goodbye, Mr. Dresden."

I felt a tug on my left wrist, and I clamped down on the Shroud as the shadow tried to tear it away. In response, the tendril around my neck tightened, cutting off my air completely. The ice around me thickened, trying to buy me the precious few millimeters I needed to restore air to my lungs. I could feel it shifting, as if trying to move some of the remaining shards from the church into position, to cut at the shadows.

But I didn't have time. If Nicodemus was no longer tied down with Michael, he could be closing on me, and I wouldn't even see the attack coming. Within moments, he could put his sword through my throat.

Desperate, I started drawing power in, preparing to strike out at everything in front of me. Without my staff or my rods, I was working at a disadvantage. Add to that the fact that I couldn't invoke them verbally, and couldn't see my target, it seemed less and less likely that I'd succeed.

Still, anything was better than dying. My mouth opened as I prepared the spell in my mind. I was on the verge of unleashing it when the darkness suddenly disappeared in a flash of blinding light.

I choked on the spell as the shadows binding my throat disappeared, leaving me gasping for breath as I slid down the wall. My hand instinctively went for my throat, even as my eyes tracked the swath of light that had cut up through the darkness to strike away Nicodemus's advancing blade.

As I landed on the floor, I found myself looking up at the small form of Karrin Murphy.

At her, and the blazing Sword of Faith in her grasp.

"No more," Murphy whispered, her voice firm as she stared up at the taller man.

Nicodemus's eyes were furious as he stared down at the hated blade. But then his gaze shifted to the woman, a loathsome sneer making his face ugly. "Stand aside, fool."

Rather than replying, Murphy braced herself, ready for whatever was to come.

Nicodemus seemed to consider it for a long moment. As he did, the light from the Sword redoubled, pushing the darkness back. The shadows didn't seem to like that, but there was little it could do. Not while the Sword was being born by a true believer on holy ground.

The leader of the Fallen seemed to realize that himself. "So be it," he said, his eyes flickering toward his daughter. "Our job here is done."

I glanced in her direction, and saw that Deirdre had fully recovered from my spell. Without a second one to reinforce the ice, she'd broken free, her heated metal flesh cooling again as she'd prepared to continue the fight.

But she wasn't the only one. Michael had stepped forward, fresh blood on one arm making him hold Amoracchius one-handed. Sanya had pulled himself up into a sitting position, the twice-injured Knight leaning on a pew to train his rifle at the demoness. Her skin might have been enough to stop the bullets, but that wouldn't work for long, what with Lacuna and Toot waiting for Forthill to finish waiving his hands over a full mop bucket.

Deirdre seemed to realize they were more than outnumbered, and retreated rather than pressing an attack. Metal hairs bit into the back wall of the apse, carrying her up and over me like a spider as she made her way to the other side.

Nicodemus shifted in the same direction, his smile not fading. "A pleasure, as always," he said in Michael's direction, his sword swooshing up in a salute. His eyes flickered over Murphy and Fidelacchius for a moment, before settling on me. "Be seeing you, Harry."

"Chao," I rasped out, my throat too sore for banter.

Nicodemus nodded pleasantly, before he and his daughter disappeared through one of the doors at the rear, the darkness fleeing from the light.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

Michael started after them, but there was too much ground to cover. By the time he reached their position, they were gone. The light from his sword cut through the shadowed hall beyond the door, revealing nothing.

Braver than I would have been, Michael stepped through, his Sword leading the way as he went after them. Apparently my friend wasn't quite so trusting as to believe they'd retreat that easily.

As for me, I knew they were gone. With all three Swords present, the two were desperately outnumbered, Winter Knight or no. And on holy ground, they couldn't like their odds.

With the fight over, the mantle released the power it'd been channeling into my armor. The ice began to break away as I shifted, leaving me only in my tattered suit. I noted my skin was pale, and tinging on the bluer side of the spectrum. I hoped that wasn't going to be an issue; the mantle blocked my pain and discomfort when it came to the cold, but I didn't think it'd actually protect me from frost bite. But it looked like I might be finding that out soon enough.

Sitting up, I looked to Murphy, who still held the Sword aloft. Her eyes were shining in the light, which she stared at with wonder. "It's… beautiful."

"And bright," I muttered, shielding my eyes from the glare as I pulled myself up. My voice was still a little rough.

Blinking nervously, Murphy slowly sheathed the Sword, as if afraid she might offend it by putting it away. The light faded as she did, until the church was returned to just the normal lighting that was still intact.

"Uh, Lieutenant?" one of the cops toward the front asked, his eyes wide as he looked to Murphy.

"What? Oh," she said, noticing for the first time that she had a bit of an audience.

As I'd noted in the lull of the fight, the police officers that had arrived had put themselves to work pulling the worshipers away from the action. Those same officers had been joined by others, all of whom had thankfully stayed out of it.

I attributed that to Murphy, who must have warned off the first arrivals, and to the presence of several members of Special Investigations. Detective Sergeant Rawlins was there, an older cop in Murphy's department that she could rely upon. He seemed to be in charge of the withdrawal, but even he had frozen at the sight of Murphy bearing the gleaming Sword.

"What…" the cop began, only to trail off in silence. I noted that it was the same cop we'd seen upon our arrival, the one that had been ready to gun down Michael and Sanya.

Murphy looked around nervously, her eyes alighting upon me as she tried to figure out what to do.

"Nothing to see here," I said loudly as I pushed myself off the wall. "You can go about your business."

"But… that…" the cop said. Based on the way the others were staring, he wasn't the only one in awe.

"It's a lightsaber," I said as I pushed myself forward. "Her father wanted her to have it when she was old enough." That seemed to cut through their shock, as most of them shifted their gaze to me. Not all of them seemed excited to see me there. I just waived in their direction. "Move along, move along."

"Keep getting the civies out of here," Murphy finally said, her voice breaking only once as she spoke. "They're going to need medical attention."

They weren't the only ones. As the cops slowly started moving again, I noticed several coughing and wheezing. Most had broken out into a sweat, and I wondered how far things had already spread.

Surprisingly, Murphy seemed to be doing pretty well. I wondered if that was a side-effect of the Sword. She too was looking flushed, but I wasn't sure if that was from embarrassment or bubonic plague.

"What are you doing?" she asked as she looked to me. Her words drew the attention of some of the cops, who's eyes widened as they saw a soft wind spell clearing a section of floor.

"I'm going to try and do something about this," I said, gesturing with the Shroud. It was still wrapped around my left wrist.

Murphy's eyes widened again. "You think you can stop it?"

"Maybe," I said darkly. "If not, we're screwed." I handed the Shroud to her. "Fold that up, would you?"

"Fold it?" she repeated

"Yes, woman. Fold it."

Murphy's eyebrow arched up at that. "After all this, you're falling back on chauvinistic stereotypes? Have the woman fold the laundry?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm doing," I replied in a condescending tone as I looked around the room. "Being sexist in the middle of an apocalypse. Now dammit, woman, fold the table cloth."

The banter helped Murphy refocus, putting her concerns about what the other cops had seen behind her for the moment.

While she got to work folding, I looked about for something sharp. Not wanting to use a shard of glass, I signaled Lacuna, who arrived in a flash. Toot arrived only a second later. "I need your sword."

Lacuna's blade was already in hand, and the tiny fairy offered me the minuscule hilt. "Of course, my lord. Are you ready to impart my punishment for failing you?"

"What? No," I replied with a groan as I took the small weapon. "I told you, we're good."

"But my lord—" she began.

"Luna, you've done great," I assured her as I knelt down in front of the altar. I gestured toward the wreckage around us. "I take it you requested the holy water and blessed salt?"

The captain of my Guard nodded crisply. "After our encounter in the parking lot, I knew we would need an advantage when we faced them again."

"Well, it saved my life," I told her. "And most likely saved the others as well."

"It did," Sanya said from not far away. Despite his injuries, the man was trying to stand guard around Michael's family, who had refused to leave despite the cops' efforts. After seeing Michael in action, I had no wonder as to why the officers didn't press the issue.

A hasty bandage had been tied around the wound in Sanya's leg, cutting off the blood-flow. He nodded to the fairies, more of a bow than anything. "I saw what you did to save Charity."

"It was nothing," Lacuna said with pride.

"What'd you do?" I asked as I made sure the floor was clear of any debris.

"My job," Lacuna said, as if that were enough.

"She and the other domovoi carried a bowl of holy water overhead," Sanya explained. "When they poured it over Charity, it changed Deirdre's hair back to normal. It prevented the demon from killing her until Michael could get there."

Toot seemed to bristle at that for some reason, but Lacuna shot him a warning look. "We are polevoi, not domovoi," she corrected the Russian. "And it was nothing."

"My apologies," Sanya said with a slight bow of his head. "I meant no offense, especially to you."

"What about _me?_ " Toot asked, hooking a tiny thumb at himself. "I helped too!"

"You saved my wife," Michael said as he stormed up out of nowhere. I assumed that meant the Denarians were well and truly gone. "You all saved my family. And I thank you from the bottom of my heart."

Toot's chest puffed up at that, while Lacuna just took the compliment in stride.

With his thanks given, Michael quickly made his way over to his family, who moved to join him. It was no small matter, given the way half a dozen kids slammed into him as one. He held them close, even while wrapping an arm around his wife.

Whatever benefit Molly's attempted spell may or may not have had, the Carpenters were looking rough. The youngest were barely standing, and even the eldest were woozy on their feet. Charity seemed to be holding up better than the rest, but she'd been taken in back when the Denarians had first arrived.

Cursing myself for getting distracted, I turned my attention back to the task at hand. With my teeth clenched, I ran Lacuna's blade across the meat of my left palm.

"Fuck," I hissed, as the blood started to flow freely. That might have earned me a stern glare from certain people, but I didn't pay them any mind. Instead, I concentrated on making sure my blood dribbled out into a moderately sized circle.

Once it was done, Lacuna arrived with a piece of fabric in hand. I let her wrap the wound while I traced additional markings onto the floor around it with my other hand.

"What are you doing?" Murphy asked, her voice startled. I looked up to see that she'd folded the Shroud into a triangle, just like a flag.

"Trying to save our asses," I replied as I took the Shroud. After placing it within the circle, the folded fabric just barely fitting inside, I went about making more symbols along the edge of the sanguine ring, using the bloody tip of Lacuna's blade to make the small runes and glyphs.

"Harry," Michael said from a short distance away, his tone disapproving.

"Not now, Michael," I snapped, not wanting to hear any protests about accursed magic. And in their _church_ , of all places. "Everyone shut up. I need to concentrate."

With everyone taking an unconscious step back, I settled into place beside the magic circle made of my blood. I dribbled some more out onto the top of the Shroud itself, just to add to the pre-existing connection.

As Cassius had said, the Shroud had been used as the centerpiece of the plague spell. And while it would most likely break down in time, possibly upon the dawn, it was still going strong. I'd hoped that separating it from Nicodemus would be enough, but with all the other pieces being anchored by his thugs, they were managing to keep the spell alive.

The squares they cut were all still connected to the larger piece through Cassius's magic and the blood used in their preparation. Shiro's blood, and my own.

It was that same aspect that would hopefully let me unravel the spell.

If I could break the spell on the piece Nicodemus had bore, it might spread to the others. Such a thing was usually impossible, but the Denarian sorcerer had provided the method when he'd prepared the spell.

He'd used my blood. My power. Which meant that a small piece of me was in each of the cursed rags. All I had to do was use that against them, and destroy it all at once.

Empowering the circle, I closed my eyes, and focused on that which was contained inside.

The Shroud was a storm of power, one that I could sense despite the difference in our 'wavelengths'. I could feel the essence of it throbbing against the barrier of my will. The sheer power of it was incredible, an object of light corrupted by darkness.

That corruption was evident as I felt at the power, tracing its shape. It was some of the darkest magic I'd ever sensed, the type formed by blood sacrifice. It crept through the ever-present power of the Shroud, dark tendrils twisting its healing nature into something profane. More tendrils drifted out, like lines reaching out to the other pieces of the Shroud across the world.

I changed the barrier around it then, letting those lines pass through while trying to contain the rest. A sludge-like darkness seemed to pulse along a dozen wispy threads of power. And at the very edge of my perception, I could almost sense the other pieces.

It was a dizzying type of magic, the connection through time and space unlike anything I'd ever felt before. The magic was uniting what had been separated in a way that normal thaumaturgy did not. And it wasn't just trying to reach across town; they'd sent pieces thousands of miles apart. Some still hadn't faced nightfall, while others might have already seen the dawn.

I poured my power into the blood I'd spilled, trying to strengthen that connection. My head swam as the circle in my mind shone with a crimson light. I knew if I opened my eyes, nothing but a dull scarlet would lay upon the floor of the church. But in my head, my magic was alive, strengthening the connections between the pieces of the Shroud.

My forehead broke out into a sweat as I reached for each piece. My mind raced along the tendrils, latching on to a portion of the cloth. I bound it tighter to the main segment, strengthening the bond. And then I was racing to the next, trying to tie them together one by one.

But before I was halfway done, the first came unraveled. The second followed, and then the third.

Cursing, I ripped off the bandage Lacuna had tied into place and reached for her sword. When I found it, I stabbed it into my palm, and then thrust my hand into the circle. It broke the barrier, but that was fine. It wasn't going to work without more power.

"Harry," Murphy called from somewhere nearby. I still hadn't opened my eyes, as I was too busy concentrating on the spell.

"Needs more," I muttered in reply. The fingers of my left hand were twitching, but they held the tiny sword well enough to allow me to stab my right palm with it. More blood flowed, and I threw the blade aside and let the blood drip onto the cloth.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," Murphy breathed, her voice filled with shock.

"Harry, stop," Michael said. He sounded much closer than he'd been.

"I can do this," I told them through gritted teeth.

And then, shutting them out, I concentrated on reforming the circle of my will, as my blood and power drenched the Shroud.

A new tinge joined the light power of the Shroud and the dark power of the curse. Something silver and red, coursing along the threads and reaching for the other pieces. I quickly rebound them, tying each tight in my power. I was faster this time, and the bonds held. One by one they were bound, until I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that I'd gotten each and every one.

A silly grin slipped onto my lips as I united the cut Shroud, not physically, but spiritually. The bonds were strong. I had them. I could do this.

But as I began to pour more power in, to try and burn out the corruption laced between the pieces, my veins erupted into fiery agony.

" _Aaaghya!_ " I screamed, my eyes flying open as I fell back, my arms spasming as pain shot through me.

"Harry!" Murphy shouted, and I saw her crouch over me. But it was Michael's hand beneath my head, preventing me from braining myself on the hard floor.

My body spasmed at the magical backlash. I tried to gather my thoughts, but it hurt to think. I tried to speak, but I found my tongue thick and sluggish.

"It's alright, Harry," Michael said, his tone worried. "You tried."

"No," I managed to get out, trying to shove him away. My bloody hand left a smear on his armored chest. "I had it."

"We need to get you out of here," Michael said. I noticed as I looked up at him that his skin looked feverish. "The curse is affecting you now."

His comment chilled me. I looked down at my hands, and wasn't terribly surprised to see how pale they were. I'd just gouged myself several times and bled all over the place, after all.

But there was also a mottled tinge present that had nothing to do with blood-loss, and everything to do with the plague curse.

"Son of a bitch," I gasped out, realizing that the cold sweat across my forehead wasn't from trying to channel so much magic, but from the diseases spreading across my body.

The mantle had been keeping it at bay, but that seemed to have stopped. Maybe it was because I was bonding myself to the curse. By adding my power to it, I had left myself open to it.

My defenses were down. I was dying. Fast.

"We need to get him out of here," Murphy was saying. I realized the two were pulling at my arms, trying to pick me up.

"No, stop. Stop!" I insisted, pulling away as I scowled at them. "You don't understand. I have to finish."

"Harry, you tried—" Michael began.

"No, Michael, _listen_ ," I hissed at him with urgency. "All I've done so far is strengthen the bonds between the pieces."

My friend looked at me with confusion. "So?"

"So, if I stop now, then all I'll have done is make the curse _stronger_ ," I replied shortly. "I'll have just added power to this thing, helping to sustain it longer."

Michael and Murphy shared a look as Sanya cursed behind them.

"Harry, whatever you were doing, it hurt you," Michael said.

"Yeah, well, that's my fault," I explained as I leaned back toward the circle. "I'm using my power to not only bind the the pieces, but also burn out the curse. There was a bit of a feedback loop."

I wished Bob was there. He'd understand. More importantly, he might have an idea on how I could get around the issue of killing myself to complete the spell. Maybe by creating a greater circle, or using foci.

"Foci," I said, startling myself. I looked around. "I need foci."

"What kind of foci?" Sanya asked from behind Michael, looking doubtful. "Magical supplies?"

"No," I said quickly. "Five objects. Things that are on the same wavelength as the Shroud. That I can use to reinforce the healing, purifying the power in it."

Michael looked between the other three. "I don't know about five. But we can do three."

"Three…" I said slowly, before trailing off as Michael drew Amoracchius.

The Sword shone with light as it cleared his sheath. It'd only ever done that in the presence of evil, as far as I knew. I hoped that it wasn't currently shining because of me.

Michael lay the sword down along the edge of my circle, the beautiful blade making the bloody smears on the floor look crude and ugly. As he withdrew his hand, the blade remained aglow.

"Does it normally do that?" I asked, swallowing nervously as I looked at it.

"It's light shines when needed," Michael replied confidently.

"But… this magic…" I said. "It's not exactly what you'd condone."

"You are doing good, Harry," Michael assured me. "The Lord sees that."

The light grew as Sanya and Murphy both drew their own blades out, both of which shone with power as they placed them around the circle. Point to hilt, the three formed a triangle around my ring of blood, mirroring the form of the folded Shroud.

I usually use five foci in my magic. One for each aspect. Earth, fire, wind, water, heart. No, wait, that was the cartoon. Scrub the last, and replace it with spirit. Five components of nature forming the five components of magic. Five is a powerful number.

But you know what? Three is a powerful number, too.

"Stand back," I told them needlessly as I crouched once again before the circle.

This time when I closed my eyes, the light shone through my eyelids, a bright scarlet-white illumination that was almost distracting. But I ignored it, and instead brought my power to bear.

I gasped as my magic touched the power of the Swords. It was unlike anything I'd wielded before. Not better, but purer. Not superior, but surer. A power born of something I knew nothing about, but power that had put itself at my disposal, for the greater good.

What's more, it was like the power of the Shroud. The power I'd felt back at my home, when I'd studied the unsullied cloth. It was the same, but somehow so much more.

In a sea of white light, I took hold of that power. Not possessing it, because I knew that trying to do so would kill me. It wasn't mine to claim.

But I could direct it.

Shaping the power of the Swords with my own, I sent it out into the world. A sphere appeared in my mind, one that represented the Earth itself. Our power spread over it, reaching for the pieces of the Shroud. Not one at a time, but all at once. Instantly.

I could feel it then, the darkness that had seeped into the cloth. Could recognize it for the corrupting force that it was. I'd thought I could differentiate the darkness from the light, and had tried to pull one from the other.

But in the light of the Swords, I could see that there was no salvaging the Shroud. What I'd seen before was tainted and gray, an impure power that had already been twisted so far from its original purpose and state that it could no longer become what it'd once been.

I shivered, and tried to ignore the sense that, if I cared to look, the Swords would show me another power present that had been too twisted by darkness to ever hope to recover.

Instead, I focused on the Shroud. I could see that the curse was trying to spread to the Swords just as it had to my own power. To try and corrupt it like it had my blood. But the power from the blades was too pure, too great, and the corruption smoked and curled wherever it tried to reach out.

And at that, I realized we were at a standstill. The Swords could not undo the damage done to the Shroud; they were not tools of healing, no matter what Michael might have said. Nor could the corrupted Shroud taint the Swords. Neither could affect the other.

Which meant it would be up to lil ol' me.

Rather than using the Swords to destroy the curse, I instead directed it to the bonds holding the pieces together. It was quick work to replace my power with that from the blades. White threads wound with gray, uniting the fabric across the globe. In the light from the Swords, I could see dozens of dark threads that I hadn't seen before, each a hair-thin tendril extending out into the world. I wasn't sure what that meant, but I could see that the power of the Swords bound those as well.

I sighed, taking a moment to gather my own power. Now that it was no longer being used to bond the pieces, I could train it on the curse itself. Once again I poured it into the circle. It traveled out along the tendrils, touching upon the pieces everywhere they existed. Silver and red power pulsed, winding its way around the black sludge. The two powers blended, as the darkness tried to take my power into itself, to strengthen it.

I let it.

I knew I couldn't purify the Shroud, not in the way I'd hoped. If that ability was beyond the Swords, it was well above and beyond anything I could dream of. So as the curse ate at my power, I let enough seep in to bind the two together. To make sure every last bit of black sludge contained a piece of my will.

And then, I let my power do what it did best.

" _Fuego_."

The word was nothing more than a whisper, but it was the spell heard round the world.

Bells chimed as my magic erupted into an inferno, a fiery cauldron of power that burned the corrupted cloth wherever it was. Bound by the Swords, connected by my blood, saturated in my power, the plague curse had nowhere to hide.

My eyes opened as the folded Shroud burst into flames, a towering column that burned with a white light. It joined with the light of the Swords, making the front of the church the brightest place on the planet. Anywhere that was currently shrouded in night, at least.

The flaming, brittle cloth burned hotly, quickly, until it suddenly petered out. As it did, the light from the Swords slowly began to wane, until they too were reflecting nothing more than the mundane lights overhead.

Lightheaded, I turned to Murphy, who was staring at me with eyes as wide as they'd go. I gave her a sloppy smile as I waived my arms, unintentionally splattering blood all about as I wiggled my hands.

"Ta-da."

And then I collapsed into a dead faint.


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

Nicodemus's apocalypse lasted exactly one hour.

The fallout would linger for much, much longer.

Cassius had told us the truth, but hadn't told us everything. After my escape that morning, Nicodemus had indeed altered his plan, dividing the Shroud between his mortal servants with him in Chicago. Each Acolyte underwent a ritual to bind them to their segments of cloth; as long as they kept it on their person, the spell would remain active.

Of course, with the pieces bound together through magic, not all of them needed to retain possession in order to keep it going. As long as one of them kept their piece in hand, the rest would continue to spread the contagion.

I assumed that's why Nicodemus kept the largest piece for himself. And why, even after I'd taken it from him, the curse continued its bloody work.

With almost twelve hours to travel, and O'Hare providing direct international flights, his people had plenty of time to reach their destinations. Each was then sent out into the world with a piece, tasked with placing it in a church that held Saturday evening mass, or depending on the local time, in a public venue.

What we didn't know was that additional, smaller cuttings had been sent out without Acolytes to attend them.

Small squares were expressed mailed to every major news outlet. Other packages were addressed to politicians, celebrities, and business leaders. Deliveries were made to other religious institutions, in the hopes that it might spread through their members as well.

When the curse finally activated, it didn't target one place, or even twelve.

It struck at hundreds.

In the end, my spell was successful in destroying both the Shroud and the plague curse. Even the smaller pieces were destroyed, burning bright everywhere they had been sent, until not a trace was left.

I'd stopped the curse, but couldn't undo what had been done. I'd saved lives, but that was little comfort to those that had perished in that long sixty minutes, and to those that the curse affected in the months to come.

As soon as the curse was destroyed, those infected by its power started to recover. It wasn't immediate, but within hours, the last traces of the plagues were gone. A vast majority of the dozens exposed in Chicago, and thousands more across the globe, were left wondering what had happened to them.

But while the supernaturally produced plagues might have disappeared, the physical strain caused by them lingered. Those in ill health were the worst affected, as organs failed and mundane infections claimed lives. Some died in the church and the other locales, while others died while being cared for. Not as many as there would have been, but still too many.

The most fatalities came from the numerous flights that went down while en route to their destinations. Two passenger planes crashed before reaching Tokyo and Beijing. Several carrier planes went down as well, as the contagion spread to the flight crews.

As regrettable as those deaths were, their short-term suffering was nothing compared to what the survivors went through.

Despite the fact that I'd stopped the plague, I couldn't stop what was to come.

In close to a dozen cities, church goers were found suffering from a plethora of plagues that doctors had no means of explaining. Most were found and reported before the curse was destroyed. Some were taken to emergency rooms, where they passed the contagion on to the sickly and infirm. More people died as the panic grew.

Those that recognized the symptoms for what they were did what they could to lessen the impact. Several cities got their people into quarantine, buying the doctors time to run tests. They were left stumped when the victims tested negative for anything. Not believing the results, the infected were kept in quarantine and isolation as more and more exams were run, as officials became desperate to explain the unexplainable.

While the hospitals kept the infected under lockdown, the state and federal governments did the same for everyone else.

Thanks to the pieces mailed across the globe, dozens of hotspots sprung up. With newscasters falling out of their chairs live on television, there was no stopping the panic from spreading.

Airports, train and bus stations, and the targeted churches were all shut down for lengthy periods of time. Any facility that handled the cursed packages was closed. Shipping was all but suspended on a global scale, as nations and locales untouched by the plague tried to remain that way.

Borders were temporarily closed as nations struggled to prevent the spread of the already eradicated plague. Trade goods, including desperately needed food stocks for those still recovering from the previous summer's crisis, sat in warehouses under quarantine. Martial law was declared in most major cities across the globe, in some cases lasting more than three months. While no new cases were reported, the world was terrified of a repeat performance from the 'terrorist group'.

No-one believed that the contagion was gone.

More skirmishes broke out. Fear and paranoia ran rampant. People died.

And for some, so did their faith.

Nicodemus's choice of targets was viciously cruel. With almost a dozen churches acting as ground zero for the plague, some of the masses were reluctant to return to their houses of worship. And it wasn't just the Catholics; every religion saw a drop in attendance, as the public feared a repeat attack.

It led many to question why their gods would allow such a thing to happen. It led others to point to those most affected and denounce their beliefs, declaring the plague as proof that their religions were false. Some believed it was the act of a wrathful God turning on humanity; others thought it was a Bowl of Judgment being unleashed upon the world, a sign that the End was Near.

An unholy war was brewing, as humanity's faithful were tested in ways not seen since the Old Testament. Their ongoing paranoia added to the simmering fear and chaos.

Exactly as Nicodemus had hoped.

* * *

When I came to, I was already under quarantine at the hospital facility. The others had to tell me about what had happened, both before and after my lapse of consciousness.

While I'd been busy with Ursiel, the others had held their own against Nicodemus and his daughter. But even with two Knights of the Cross present, and fighting on what could only be described as the ultimate home field advantage, Michael and Sanya had been hard-pressed to survive.

With their previous injuries piling up, the two had struggled against the Denarians. And with Charity held captive by Deirdre, Michael had been stuck in a horrific limbo, afraid that the demon would kill his wife if he attacked.

That had all changed with the arrival of my Guard.

While the Knights and I had hastily ran into the church, Murphy had remained outside to oversee the first responders as they arrived. She'd also opened the trunk, where Lacuna's stash of holy water balloons and blessed salt party poppers had been stashed.

I'd been surprised that the fairies had crossed over onto holy ground, but Lacuna explained that Forthill had already invited them into the church earlier that day, when they'd been retrieving the blessed supplies. It was a good thing he had, as that allowed them to play their role as the cavalry.

As they'd explained to me in the church, Lacuna and some of the others had retrieved one of the bowls of holy water from the front of the sanctuary, and dumped it over Deirdre's head. Weakened by the church's threshold, her transformation had failed, and Charity had broken free.

In a way, Lacuna and the Guard had saved the world. I made sure to compensate them how I could, appreciative for them going above and beyond anything I'd dreamed. They'd avenged their fallen comrades, and we mourned the losses when we had a chance. Lacuna finally stopped asking for me to kill her, and things got back to normal.

Unfortunately, not everyone had faired quite so well.

Murphy had largely escaped unscathed, at least physically. Internal Affairs opened up an investigation on her, possibly looking for a scapegoat for the Chicago portion of events. But the first responders at St. Mary's all stood up for her, and her role in stopping the Acolyte in the church somehow leaked to the press. While it was scant on details, the attention brought her enough praise that the case was eventually closed.

Even better, almost every cop that showed up at the church requested to be transfered to Special Investigations. It seems having a department head with her very own lightsaber was great for recruitment. Those that didn't see it firsthand wrote it off as fever dreams of those exposed to the contagion. But Murphy had made believers out of more than handful, and S.I. benefited from it.

As for the other two wielding glowing swords, Michael and Sanya were both hospitalized for their numerous injuries. They were also despondent at the loss of the coins they'd retrieved. While dueling with Nicodemus, Sanya had somehow lost Saluriel's coin. The pocket where he'd been storing it had been cut open when Nicodemus slashed at his leg.

As for Ursiel's coin, it was nowhere to be found. The assumption was that Nicodemus had used his shadow to retrieve both at some point before retreating.

Michael was happy enough that his family got out of things unscathed. All of them survived with no lasting damage from the curse, and according to him, Charity had supposedly said something about me that wasn't entirely offensive. Which was progress, I suppose. Coins be damned, it was a win in his book.

I wasn't excited about the two Fallen finding new hosts, considering what I'd done to them. It seemed my tendency to not leave opponents breathing wasn't going to be quite as efficient when dealing with immortals. I could only take precautions, and hope I saw them coming in time.

Forthill made it through the contagion alright. Being taken in back as the plague spread through the front had most likely saved his life. He hadn't quite forgiven himself for giving up Ursiel's coin. As a means of penance, the man was more than willing to help Lacuna in her quest to build a stockpile of blessed weapons.

To my complete lack of surprise, Francisca Garcia was gone before the authorities could get to her. According to Forthill, she'd been in one of the back rooms sleeping when the attack began. When he went looking for her after it was over, she was nowhere to be found.

The last remaining Churchmouse fled with several million dollars in profits, which Sía wasn't too pleased about.

For my part, I spent only a couple of days in quarantine. To prevent myself from breaking down any of the critical systems, I once again donned the thorned manacles. It didn't help the wounds on my wrists heal any faster, but at least I didn't make a desperate situation worse. And it gave Lacuna an opportunity to practice her lock-picking.

My other numerous injuries were all treated by the medical staff. They confirmed that I'd dislocated my shoulder, and had done a piss-poor job of resetting it. Only the pain-numbing ability of the mantle had let me ignore the collective abuse I'd taken over a very rough twenty-four hours.

It was a long few days. But at least I had company.

Murphy, Michael and the others were all on lockdown as well. The Knights were worried that the Denarians might use the time to make matters worse, but I couldn't see how they could. Things were pretty terrible already.

Even though our quarantine was lifted after a few days — simply because the government couldn't house and feed all of the people reporting issues — we were ordered to remain isolated. That meant no travel, and no going about in public.

Chicago had declared martial law in the aftermath of the outbreak. It lasted for over a month, which eventually led to riots. The Illinois National Guard had to be called in to bring order, since so many of the local police were similarly under isolation.

It was a rough several months. But eventually, things settled down. They never quite got back to normal, but they got better.

In this grand new world we found ourselves in, that was the best we could hope for.

* * *

When my isolation officially ended, I resumed my travels around town. That didn't mean I'd spent those months locked up; mortal concerns were of no concern to Mab. I hadn't gotten out of my Knightly duties during my confinement, but what the city officials didn't know wouldn't hurt them.

The first thing I did once my freedom was restored was go check on Sía, who had escaped all of the hoopla over the plagues due to her injuries. She'd still been in the hospital when the curse hit. Other than a concussion and a broken arm, she was alright. Both were a distant memory by the time I was released.

I found her on Goose Island, overseeing her operations. Things looked hectic, but she took a minute to meet me in my corner office.

"Good to see you out and about," she said, a playful smile breaking the tense look that had been on her face when she'd first walked in.

"Good to be seen," I said. "How are things?"

The woman grimaced, but nodded her head in a so-so gesture. "Could be better. Having the National Guard in town is making things difficult. There aren't nearly as many corrupt soldiers as there are cops."

I nodded, a frown slipping into place at the reminder that my friends were not the noble do-gooders I'd once imagined surrounding myself with. Especially compared to Michael and the Knights.

"Don't worry about us," she said, guessing incorrectly at my thoughts. "We can handle the crackdown."

Something in her tone hinted at other concerns. "What is it?" I asked, my frown deepening.

Sía hesitated to say anything, but realized after a minute that I wasn't going to let it go. "It's Marcone," she finally admitted.

"What about him?" I asked, surprised. "Is he still coming after you guys?"

The Irish woman nodded. "His enforcers have been on a rampage ever since the hotel. Supposedly he's cheesed off about the deaths of his people."

"That sounds like Marcone," I admitted. "But why is he coming after the Streetwolves for that? You were the only one present."

Sía just shrugged. "Guilty by association, I suppose."

My face hardened. "We'll see about that."

Sía smiled, sidling closer as my tone thrilled her. But the smile faltered as I stepped back, keeping out of reach.

"What is it?" she asked with a frown. "You're not worried about being contagious, are you?" She knew that the curse was no longer a concern, which explained her confusion over my reaction.

"No," I said with a shake of my head. "I just… I need some time."

Sía took a step back, her arms crossing in front of her as she did. "I see."

Her gold-flecked eyes were stoic as I grimaced. "I've just got a lot on my mind."

She didn't seem to believe me. "Does this have anything to do with Susan?"

That question surprised me, which I think was apparent. "No. Why?"

The woman just shrugged. "I don't know. Just curious, seeing as you're asking for space as soon as your ex pops back into the picture."

I laughed at that. The lycanthrope looked startled. "This has nothing to do with Susan. She and I… we're as over as anyone can be."

Which was the truth. One of the many things I'd come to realize was that the woman I'd known was gone. Maybe a part of her remained in the new being that lived with her face, but she'd never be the same.

I might have respected what Susan was trying to do, but I would never get over what she'd become. And chosen to remain being. She'd chosen her path, just like she had the night of the party. As much as I'd blamed myself for her fate, Susan and Sía's words had finally made me understand that I wasn't the only one responsible. That Susan had done, and always would do, as she wanted.

I'd accepted that, and for the first time in a long time, felt like a burden had been lifted.

The lycanthrope nodded crisply, sensing the truth in my statement. "So what is it then? After a one-night fling with the Knights, you're reconsidering our relationship?" Based on her tone, it sounded like she meant both me and her, and me and the Streetwolves.

"No," I said with a firm shake of my head. "I still believe in what you're doing. But with everything that's happened… let's just say I'm reevaluating my own weaknesses."

Her stony looked slipped into another frown. "Weaknesses?"

"Sía…" I said, trying to find the right words. "Do you know why all of this happened?"

"Because some shites wanted to break the world?"

"For the most part," I admitted. "But the fact that they succeeded was because of me. Because I let myself be compromised."

A knowing look crossed over Sía's face. "Because of me."

"Because of you," I confirmed with a nod. "And because of others."

"Harry," she said, her tone growing firm. "I told you before that you can't control me. I'm going to be in danger whether we're close or not; I don't exactly live a safe lifestyle."

I was already shaking my head. "It's not because of you, Sía. It's because of _me_."

That seemed to confuse her. I tried to explain. "When Nicodemus showed up, he threatened the Streetwolves. _All_ of them," I added, as her eyes went wide. "He was ready to massacre the entire gang to prove a point."

"They could try," Sía said, although she didn't sound confident. I'd explained enough about the Denarians for her to know their odds of survival would be slim.

"I'm sure you'd do your best," I assured her. "And going forward, I'll make sure you all are as prepared as possible to defend yourself against any kind of supernatural threat."

That seemed to pique her interest, but I continued. "No, the problem wasn't that the Streetwolves were threatened." I sighed as I shook my head. "The problem was that I wasn't willing to sacrifice you all."

Sía pursed her lips. "I see."

"Do you?" I asked.

The lycanthrope took her time before responding. "Back in Belfast, one of my old crew was grabbed by another faction," she said, her voice quiet. "Someone I was close to. Someone they thought they could hold over me."

"What happened?"

Gold-flecked green eyes met mine. "I did what I had to, for the good of the gang." Her voice hardened. "And later, I avenged him."

I nodded. "That's what I mean. That's what I wasn't willing to do."

Sía stared back at me. "So you need time."

"Yes," I said. "The world's becoming a harder place. And I need to make sure I'm ready for whatever is coming next."

The woman was silent for a long moment. "I can respect that. But now's not the best time for us to lose you."

"I'm not going anywhere," I assured her. "If you all need me, I'll be here." My eyes hardened again. "And as for your current situation, I think I can do something about that."

* * *

Marcone's car slowly came to a stop outside the gate to his property. It was a tall ironwork job, similar to the one I had at my place. But unlike my fence, his was a solid wall of stone that wrapped all the way around the acres he owned.

Also like mine, his property was warded to the hilt. The stones in the wall thrummed with power, enough to keep me out unless I wanted to sacrifice both the power available to me as the Winter Knight _and_ my own power.

But you know what Gard couldn't ward? The sidewalk in front of Marcone's place.

Which is why a wall of ice four feet thick stood in front of his gate, preventing him from entering.

The limo idled just outside the makeshift wall. I had no doubt that Marcone was inside the vehicle; my spotters had confirmed that as he'd left one of his facilities. He was most likely looking at the wall and wondering why I'd bothered with such a childish prank.

Only, my days of playing with the gangster were over.

As the car sat there, I stood against the wall, hidden under my veil. With a few muttered words, I activated the spells I'd prepared on the pavement. A flicker of light preceded the sudden formation of two columns of ice that rose up from the ground beneath the vehicle, each three feet in diameter. There'd been others positioned here and there, to account for different angles the car might have taken. But the two I activated were situated close to perfectly, hitting the underside of the vehicle around the axles.

When the driver realized something was amiss, he slammed down on the pedal. But with the ice pushing up from below, the wheels had already left the ground. They spun helplessly as the car rose.

The spell stopped after a foot or so, leaving the car suspended in mid-air. Those in side were most likely debating fleeing on foot or remaining in the armored car.

I made the decision simple when I released the veil concealing not only me, but the six large Streetwolves bearing GE M134 Miniguns.

Despite Sía's protests, her people had found one or two of the National Guard people willing to supply them with a few items. The gatling guns weren't standard issue, but money can buy just about anything.

As we stood on the sidewalk, all six were trained on the side of the vehicle. Each lycanthrope bore a large backpack carrying the ammo for the weapons. Capable of firing six thousand rounds per second, they'd chew through armored glass and door panels with ease. They were the type of thing you'd normally use to mow down a jungle rather than a mob boss, but I was in the mood to make a point.

I stepped off the curb, putting myself between the guns and the vehicle. Walking casually to the back door, I rapped on the window with a knuckle. "Little pig, little pig, let me come in."

There was a long moment as those inside came to a decision on what to do. Most likely Hendricks wanted to roll down the window and shoot me in the face. Gard probably wanted to cast something to try and break the pillars holding the car up. Marcone was probably considering both.

When the reply was too long coming, I rapped on the window again. "If you don't, I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow you to Kingdom fucking Come."

After another second, those inside came to a decision. The window rolled down at a glacial pace to reveal the face of Gentleman John Marcone. And what a face it was.

The rumors were true; the man had indeed lost an eye in the fight with Nicodemus. A black eye-patch sat over his left eye, and I could see the still livid scar extending above and below the shaped plastic. It extended down across his left cheek, which was pinched and scarred where they'd had to sew his face back together.

Overall, it gave him a more menacing, dangerous look. But I wasn't impressed.

"Mr. Dresden," the gangster said calmly, his good eye on me rather than the Streetwolves and their arsenal.

I saw that Gard sat beside him on the bench, her hands clenched around what I assumed were magical items that she would use to try and protect her charge. Since I didn't see Hendricks, I figured he was driving.

"Hi, my name's Harry," I said with a smile. "And I'm going door to door tonight to tell people about my new business."

The gangster's gaze was just as flat and unamused with one eye as it'd been with two. "I'm not interested."

I gave the man an innocent shrug. "Oh, I think you'd be surprised."

The man clearly wanted nothing to do with me, but couldn't resist hearing what I had to say. Not when he was a captive audience. "Very well," he said with a sigh. "What is this new business, Mr. Dresden?"

"I'm going to become a psychic," I explained with a bright smile. "Gonna have cards printed out and everything."

Marcone's eyebrow twitched, clearly confused. "And why would I be interested in that?"

I lifted one hand to my head, resting two fingers at my temple. "Because my first vision of the future involves you."

"I see," the man replied. His gaze finally drifted to the Streetwolves, before returning to me. "And what, pray tell, do you foresee?"

My hand dropped. "I see your death."

There must have been something in my tone, as Gard tensed. I could feel her drawing in power, although it felt odd, something different than my own magic. I realized I'd need to figure out just who and what she was.

For his part, Marcone seemed un-phased. "Is this your idea of a joke, Mr. Dresden?" he asked flatly.

"Oh, no joke," I assured him. I leaned in a little, using my height to look down on the man in the low vehicle. "This situation the world finds itself in is partly because of _you_ ," I said, inclining my head for emphasis.

"I hardly think—"

"I don't care what you think," I snapped, cutting him off. "This all started because _you_ meddled in things where you don't belong." I looked to Gard. "With powers you don't understand."

Marcone's jaw tensed. "Get on with it or get out of my way."

I ignored him, taking a step forward rather than back.

"I'm offering you a free piece of advice," I continued, my eyes remaining on his one good one. "Stop meddling with magic. Stop bringing things into _my_ town, and making _me_ have to clean up _your_ mess. This town has had to deal with dark sorcerers, insane werewolves, and Fallen fucking angels, all because of _you_." My voice pitched lower. "It ends now."

"Or what?" Marcone asked coldly, his green eye glinting. "You have no authority here. Over me or my people."

"That's where you're wrong," I told him, matching his tone. "I may not be on the Council anymore, but I'm putting my foot down on anything and everything supernatural. Chicago is _my_ town. If you, or anyone else, tries anything like this again…"

An echoing whir started up behind us, as all six Gatling barrels started to spin.

Gard's eyes widened. Whatever she'd done to re-enforce the vehicle, whatever defensive magics she was ready to cast, she knew that they wouldn't be enough. Not while sitting in a shooting gallery with thirty-six thousand rounds spitting at them per minute.

What's more, the woman seemed to realize that this was no bluff. That I was prepared to do this. That she and Marcone were about to die if he didn't say the right thing in response.

Whatever he might have said, I don't know. When the woman hissed in shock, Marcone turned to her. He seemed to tense as he noted his inescapable fate in her eyes. As if that alone had helped him understand the situation.

After a moment, he slowly turned back to me. Despite his efforts at remaining stoic, there was no mistaking the loathing in his one eye. But he didn't challenge me either.

I leaned back, letting my face go as flat as Marcone's had been. "Am I understood?"

Rather than speaking, Marcone just gave the shallowest of nods.

"Excellent," I replied with a dark smile as I nodded as well. I started to turn away, but stopped and looked back. "Oh, one more thing. Call your people off of the Streetwolves."

To my surprise, that seemed to anger Marcone more than anything yet. "My people were killed—"

"Your thugs were killed by Bianca's goons," I spat. "The Streetwolves had nothing to do with it. Find your revenge elsewhere, or on some other night, I'll come calling. And I'll do more than huff and puff."

Part of me wanted to end him right then and there. To be rid of him and his evil once and for all. But I knew I couldn't do that. Not yet. The Streetwolves were growing more formidable, but they couldn't stand against Bianca alone. Not yet.

For now, I needed Marcone. To keep the balance, until my people were ready. Until I could finally rid the city of all the evil that had taken root in its shadows.

Maybe I was a Streetwolf. Maybe I wasn't. Labels weren't important. All that mattered was that Marcone understood that he wasn't the Big Bad Wolf anymore.

Without waiting for a reply, I turned away. My veil went up over me and the Streetwolves, concealing our withdrawal as Marcone and his people stared into the darkness, wondering what threat might still be looming.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

It was a few nights after that encounter, just as dusk was settling across the cityscape, that my wards lit up like fireworks. Having been down in the lab with Bob, I ran upstairs, wondering if Marcone was going to dare to attack me on my own turf.

But just as quickly as the ward bells had started, they cut off. The lamps were still burning, just in case I had any inclination of thinking I'd imagined them. Based on the color, there'd been a serious threat.

"What is it?" I asked as I got to the top of the stairs. Lacuna was waiting, hovering in place with her armor already on. I could hear distant chatter from the other Guard members as they changed into their battle gear.

"It's _him_ ," Lacuna hissed, her anger surprising me.

"Marcone?" I asked doubtfully. "He couldn't even dream of setting off the wards like this."

"No, not Marcone," the tiny fairy replied, her tone almost terse. " _Him_."

Moving to a wooden box on the hallway table, I muttered a spell as I opened it. The magic activated the oval mirror set into the lid. Its surface changed from a milky gray to crystal clear. But rather than reflecting me or the inside of the house, it showed me a view from the gate.

"Oh," I said coldly. "Him."

A minute later I made my way outside and down the driveway. I had one of my spell-worked suits on, as well as a make-shift shield bracelet I'd thrown together while still under isolation. My soot-streaked staff was slung over my shoulder, and I hoped I looked like a lumberjack about to cut down a particularly annoying tree.

When I got to the gate, I found Nicodemus waiting.

"Harry," the demon said with a smile and a nod.

"I'm going to kill you," I growled as I approached.

Nicodemus blinked at the finality of my words. "Won't you hear what I have to say?"

"No," I replied, but paused just inside the gate. I figured he probably wasn't alone, but didn't see Deirdre anywhere in sight. As far as I could tell, it was just him and a steamer trunk sitting on the sidewalk.

"Very well," he said with a dismissive shrug. "Then let us assume that my daughter is close at hand. If you make an attempt on my life, she will kill her hostages."

My eyebrow rose over my flat look. "What hostages?" I asked dubiously.

Nicodemus shrugged again. "I don't know. School children perhaps, or an elderly couple from up the road. I think there were some Streetwolves a couple blocks over that she took an interest in." His eyes were as sure as his smile. "Regardless, someone innocent and undeserving of such a fate."

"Yeah, I bet," I replied before walking off the property. "There's just one thing wrong with that."

"Oh?" Nicodemus asked, looking mildly surprised.

"Yeah," I replied darkly. "You seem to think that's going to stop me."

As I advanced toward the man, he started backing away, his eyes widening. "You'd let them die? Even if it was your people?"

"Someone recently told me that you can't control others," I replied. "Those that choose to be close to me know it comes at a cost. And that cost might be high."

"But to sacrifice them…" he argued as he continued backpedaling.

"I think they'd understand," I assured him. "If it meant ridding the world of you."

Nicodemus blinked again, before coming to a stop. That surprised me, and gave me pause as well. As did the next thing he did.

He smiled.

"Excellent," the demon replied, sounding almost relieved. "You're beginning to understand."

"Understand what?" I asked, my suspicion growing at his sudden change in demeanor. "That it's high time someone put that noose to good use?"

"That some causes are so great, sacrifices are required," Nicodemus said calmly, coldly. "That some evils are so unthinkable, that a lesser evil must be permitted, even _committed_ , in an effort to stop it."

His words chilled me in a way that the mantle could do nothing for. "What are you talking about?"

Nicodemus's smile became almost rueful. "Harry, Harry… I forget how young you are. How little you know of the world, and what lies beyond it."

My look was dark. "I'm willing to send you ahead to see what lies beyond."

The man's smile grew. "As well you should."

Despite my determination to kill him, I was thrown by the turn we'd taken. "You want me to kill you?" I asked, honestly confused for a moment.

"Heavens, no," Nicodemus said with a slight shake of his head. "It's not yet time for that. No, my work is far from done."

"Your work?" I spat. "You mean killing innocents just to get your jollies?"

"Don't be naive, Harry," Nicodemus said chidingly, a soft frown creasing his forehead. "This was not some vein effort to amuse myself. It was about power."

"Power?"

"Chaos," he replied softly. "Fear. Panic. Desperation." He shrugged. "Progress."

His words were chilling. "Progress," I repeated. "You said that before."

"So I did," Nicodemus said with a nod. "Nor have I lied about my intentions. Not to you."

I took a moment to study his words, to try and understand what he was saying. But all it did was make me feel dirty. "The Knights told me about how you all gain power through strife and suffering," I said with a shake of my head. "You sent the world into a tailspin for personal power, all for nothing."

"Yes and no," Nicodemus said sharply. "The desperation of humanity gives the Fallen a power unlike anything you would believe. But not for nothing. My power has _purpose_. _I_ have _purpose_."

"You've got issues is what you've got," I told him honestly.

Nicodemus shook his head. "Mab has twisted you. Made you think her way is the only way."

And suddenly my breaks were on full. "Whoa, what?"

Nicodemus blinked in surprise. We studied each other from across a short distance, both of us clearly thrown by the other's reaction.

He broke first. "Has she really not told you?" he asked in disbelief.

"Told me what?" I asked, taking an unconscious step back.

"She hasn't," he whispered, almost to himself. His eyes narrowed after a moment, as if he were trying to puzzle something out. "I thought for sure she would have told you once you became her Knight."

"Mab doesn't really tell me much," I said. "I wasn't kidding when I said we don't get along."

Nicodemus nodded, his expression still thoughtful. "She knows what she wields. But she is not yet set to use it." His gaze hardened as he once again looked to me. "That is very bad news for you, Harry."

"Everything about her is bad news," I replied, taking another step back. "Same goes for you."

Nicodemus straightened, his eyes playing to the shadows around us. "If she has not yet drawn you in, then I shall not either. To do so… might prompt her to take action."

I took yet another step back, convinced that the ancient demon-possessed man was going mad before my very eyes. "Okay. Let's not talk about that, then."

The man seemed to suddenly realize that he sounded like a raving lunatic. His smile returned. "My apologies, Harry. Sometimes it's difficult to see every piece on the board for what it is, much less when it should be used."

"Think nothing of it," I said, forcing a smile onto my face. "I'm going to start billing you by the hour, though."

Nicodemus smiled at that, until he seemed to think of something. "You're stalling."

"Who, me?" I asked, feigning surprise.

Nicodemus once again looked around, this time more nervously. "You've called the Knights."

"Why would I do that?" I asked in disbelief. "I mean, a freakin' _Denarian_ rang my front doorbell. Why would I think the Knights of the Cross would be interested in _that?_ "

"Very well," Nicodemus said with a tight smile. "Then our time grows short. Let me be quick." The man met my eyes, something I wasn't willing to do in return. "You see me as the enemy. As the worst monster you've known."

"That just about sums it up," I confirmed. "And trust me, I've known some."

"Then let me assure you, you know nothing," Nicodemus said softly. "There are things out there, things trying to tear this world apart, that make me look like a saint."

"Somehow I doubt that," I told him.

"You'd be surprised," he replied quickly. "But no matter. Someday you will know what I know. Someday you will see the threat that looms over not just this world, but all of reality."

The man slowly reached for his pocket. I kept my eyes on him, expecting the worst. But even then I was still surprised when he pulled out a small silver coin.

"Despite everything, I'm still tempted to make you an offer," Nicodemus said quietly. He absently rubbed the coin, its ancient, cracked surface containing markings I couldn't quite make out.

Still, I had a good idea as to what it was. "I told you before—"

"Yes, yes, I know," Nicodemus said with a roll of his eyes. "You've already made your deal with a devil." His gaze fell to the coin, a thoughtful look crossing his face as he did. "Although I believe you'd find this particular devil much more palatable than your current one."

At that, Nicodemus tucked the coin back into his pocket. "Regardless, you cannot consider such a thing while you remain under Mab's control. But when the time comes, I will give you another chance."

"I don't know if I should be flattered or offended," I told him honestly.

"Very few things in this world are simply one thing or another. Why should you?" Nicodemus said with a shrug. Nicodemus gave a slight inclination of his head, before starting off down the sidewalk. "Until next time, Mr. Dresden."

I watched him go, considering whether or not I had a chance of stopping him. He'd almost wiped the floor with me back in the church, and that had been when his shadow had been somewhat limited. Without a Knight of the Cross, or one of their handy glowing Swords, I wasn't sure what I could do against Nicodemus's power.

Especially if the chaos were adding to it.

"Wait, what is this?" I called out to him, while looking down at the box on the ground. It was a travel trunk, the old fashioned kind with leather straps.

Nicodemus stopped to look back. "Oh. That's yours."

I cautiously opened it, bracing myself for an explosion. But as the lid rocked back, I saw that it was filled with my things.

"You kept all of this?" I asked, looking down at everything the Denarians had taken from me. My duster and suit were on the bottom, both wrapped in plastic as if they'd been to the cleaners. Atop them lay my rods, hat, shield bracelet, and my rings.

And most importantly, my mother's amulet.

"Of course," Nicodemus said. "A favor for a friend."

My eyes rose to his. "I'm not your friend."

Nicodemus laughed at that. "I wasn't speaking of you." He nodded at the trunk. "If Little Maggie wanted you to have that, far be it from me to take it away."

The wind blew across my neck, a cold chill to it that made me shiver.

My mother's name was Margaret.

"What do you know of my mother?" I asked breathlessly.

When Nicodemus smiled, it wasn't cruel or lecherous. It was simply gentle, and almost sad. "I have a fond memory or two of her," he said softly. "I respected her. As I do you," he added with a nod. "But as pleasant as this has been, I really must be going. Farewell, Harry."

At that, the demon left. Within strides, he'd disappeared into the shadows of the tree-lined drive, leaving me to stare after him, wondering.

* * *

Murphy arrived a few minutes later. I was still standing on the corner, rummaging around in the crate. I'd been careful to run my senses over it and its contents, just in case Nicodemus was trying something subtle. But as far as I could tell, he'd left my things alone. And more importantly, he hadn't slipped a coin into anything.

As her sedan came to a stop, I looked up. She'd arrived like a bat freshly escaped from hell, although her lights and siren were off. She was out the driver's side door in a flash, her eyes swiveling about as she circled around the vehicle. I noticed the sheathed sword she carried.

"Where's Michael?" I asked as she strode up. When I'd seen Nicodemus standing outside, I'd known that he wouldn't stick around for long. But I wasn't about to meet him without any backup. I'd called the Carpenter residence, and hastily left a message for Michael with his eldest. I hadn't waited around for her to deliver it, as I didn't want to risk Nicodemus getting away.

"Out of town," Murphy replied as she came to a stop. She'd relaxed somewhat as she realized we were alone, although she did a double-take at the crate. "Molly called and told me what you said. I got here as quick as I could. I take it I missed him?"

I nodded as my eyes fell to the Sword now resting on her hip. "Taking that up permanently, then?"

The detective glanced down at the hilt bearing a Nail from the Crucifixion. A blush crept across her face. "No, I just…"

"It's fine," I told her, saving her from the embarrassment. "I understand wanting to figure things out. Accepting power, and the responsibility that comes with it, is no easy thing."

Murphy nodded, before gesturing to the crate. "Is this your stuff?"

"Yup."

The woman's eyes narrowed as she studied me. "So Nicodemus came back to town just to return your things?"

"I guess so," I said, nudging the trunk with a boot. I had no intention of using any of it until after it'd received a more thorough inspection.

Murphy gave of a soft grunt at that, crossing her arms in front of her. "That's a little suspicious, isn't it?"

"I guess so," I repeated.

"What else happened?" Murphy asked, looking around as if she expected the Denarian to pop out of a shadow at any moment.

I quickly filled her in, telling her everything but the last bit about my mother. Well, and the fact that he'd all but offered me a coin. No need to worry her about those minor details. Not when we were just beginning to trust one another again.

I wasn't sure what to make of his comment about my mother; for all I knew, Nicodemus was lying. But if he wasn't, I didn't want to bias Murphy against her. Somehow that felt like it'd be unforgivable.

When I finished relaying most of our exchange, Murphy gave me a concerned look. At first I thought she'd realized I'd held something back, but that fear faded when she spoke. "Did you mean it?"

"Mean what?" I asked, confused by her inquiry.

"That it wouldn't matter who Deirdre had captured?"

I couldn't help but sigh. "Murph, let's try and focus on the important things."

"I think that _is_ important," Murphy said softly. Her gaze didn't match her tone.

I shook my head, wishing she'd understand. "Let me ask you something. Why does the government not negotiate with terrorists?"

The question surprised her, as I watched her blink and consider my question. "Because if you concede to their demands, you risk repeat occurrences."

"Exactly," I said with a nod. "If you give them what they want once, they'll try it again and again. So we have to deny them, even when the cost is great."

Murphy blinked again. "Harry, there's a difference between protecting a nation and protecting an innocent bystander."

"Is there?" I asked her with a frown. "I gave the Denarians the Shroud, all to save one life."

"That's different," she argued. "You didn't know—"

"That doesn't matter," I said, waiving her off. "Let's say Father Vincent had actually been Father Vincent. And lets say that we knew what the Denarians planned to do with the Shroud."

Murphy hesitated. I could see her at war with herself, arguing both sides. The cop, who knew perfectly well that sometimes you had to do ugly things to protect the masses from the few. And the woman she was, who would never give up on saving anyone she could help.

"We can't change the past, Harry," she finally said, as if that were what I was concerned about.

"I know that," I told her calmly. "What I'm talking about is the next time. When the next demon or monster comes along, and holds someone hostage, to force me into doing what they want. Or they try and blackmail me into doing something; or worse, into _not_ doing something."

"It's just not that simple," she insisted.

"I think it is," I replied, keeping my voice soft. When she looked up, it was to find me shaking my head. "I don't like it, Murphy. The idea of someone out there dying because I failed to act is horrifying. But the truth of the matter is, there are things out there that don't play by our rules. Don't respect the laws of society.

"Nicodemus held Sía over me to have me retrieve the Shroud," I continued. "Deirdre threatened Charity to make Forthill get Ursiel's coin. Not to mention their trick with Vincent. But if I'd been willing to let him die, how many more would be alive? If the Denarians had never gotten the Shroud, how better off would the world be?" I waived around us. "How do I justify hundreds of deaths, thousands of lives destroyed, millions of people suffering, all to save one?"

Murphy took her time answering. When she finally did, I knew she didn't understand. "I don't know, Harry. All I know is that every life matters. And that I'll always do everything in my power to save them."

I shook my head, unsurprised. "So will I, Murph. But there comes a time when sacrifices have to be made."

Murphy's look was wooden and pale. "Horrible things have been done in the name of the greater good, Harry," she replied softly. "It doesn't change the fact that they're horrible."

"I'm not talking about going out and killing people indiscriminately, Murph," I told her.

"Not yet," she replied with a shake of her head. "But you're getting close."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, letting some heat creep into my voice.

"I mean, I saw what you did to Cassius," she said in a hushed whisper. She wouldn't meet my eyes as she said it.

"I did what was necessary," I replied. "To get the information we needed to save lives."

"I'm not talking about the torture, Harry," Murphy said, looking away. "Although that's pretty bad." She shook her head, as if reliving that moment and not liking the memory. "I'm talking about mutilating him. I'm talking about executing him."

"He was a murderer," I reminded her. "He killed Shiro. He tortured me. He helped Nicodemus unleash this hell on earth," I said, gesturing around us. "And he was a practitioner. One that would have gotten himself free if we'd left him for the authorities. And then he would have hurt more people, whether he found a new coin or not."

"You're not judge, jury and executioner, Harry," she insisted.

I gave her a sad smile. "Maybe not in your world. But when it comes to the supernatural, I have to be." I shook my head. "I'm sorry you don't understand that."

She didn't seem to have anything to say to that. The wind blew between us as we stared at each other, across a distance that seemed greater than it was.

After a while, she shuddered, shaking herself as the early evening grew colder. For once, it wasn't because of me. "I'm supposed to meet up with Charity and the kids for dinner," she finally said. "I don't suppose I could convince you to join us?"

"That's probably the worst idea you've had in a long time," I told her with a genuine smile.

That drew one from her as well. "Yeah. Maybe that was pushing things." She hesitated, before glancing up at me. "Maybe we could get together, then. Just the two of us."

There was a time I would have jumped at that offer. Even if it was just made one friend to another. But I wasn't the same person I'd been.

I refused her in the gentlest way. "I don't think that's a good idea. That'd probably upset your boyfriend."

At that she blanched. "Frank is not my boyfriend."

"Suuure," I said, with a knowing nod and a wink.

Frank had been the lab technician that had helped her smuggle out the samples, blackmailing her for a date in the process. He'd thought he was dealing with just another crooked cop; once he'd found out that Murphy had been trying to stop the terrorist attack, he'd told her not to worry about the date.

She'd gone anyway.

And from what I'd heard, there'd already been a second date.

"He's not," she insisted, a blush spreading across her cheeks. Probably just the cold weather. "And he's not a bad guy. Apparently that was his first time doing anything like that."

"Well you've probably corrupted him," I told her. "Now that he's seen what he'll get for bending the rules, there'll be no stopping him."

Murphy and I shared a smile that slowly faded, as my comment unintentionally reminded us both of my other words, of giving in to blackmail and the like.

As the moment passed, Murphy nodded one last time. "I've gotta go. You know where to reach me?"

I assured her I did. "Have fun at dinner."

Murphy gave me a weak smile before heading for her sedan. I watched her go, and then started the trek back up the driveway alone, dragging the trunk with me.

Maybe a time would come when Murphy and I could be friends again. Maybe one day Michael and I could hang out, and manage to not have a conversation about my eternal soul. Maybe I could even have someone to be close to, someone that I didn't have to worry about being helpless against the forces that might try to hurt her, all to come at me.

Maybe that day would come. But it didn't feel like it'd be there for quite some time.

It wasn't that I wanted to be alone. It wasn't that I was blaming myself, punishing myself, for everything that had happened. There'd already been enough of that already.

No. I was simply preparing myself to live in the world we had created. A world where the lines between black and white were growing ever more gray. A world where perfect solutions weren't always going to present themselves; where sacrifices would have to be made, whether you were ready for them or not.

A world where you didn't just worry about the things in the shadows; you worried about the shadows themselves.

I inspected all of the things Nicodemus had returned, before putting them away. I hung my pendant over my neck, taking comfort in its weight. Then I got to work, preparing myself for whatever came next. Alone, like every wizard I'd known.

Maybe that's why the wizards of lore were always loners, distant from the societies they strived to protect. Because they have to remove themselves from attachments, to do what needed to be done.

Maybe some things just aren't meant to go together. Things like oil and water. Orange juice and toothpaste.

Wizards and loved ones.

But tomorrow was another day.


End file.
